One Shot Grab Bag
by loricjohnson
Summary: Miscellaneous one-shots, mostly various entries related to the 100 Theme Challenge on the BY.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

"Booth, I don't know what I am supposed to say. I mean, what is the proper way to burst into someone's life and inform them of something like this? What if they don't want to hear it? What if they don't believe me? What if they don't like me? Maybe this isn't such a good idea?"

Booth reached out and pulled his partner into his arms, resting his head on top of hers, staring at Bones' car next to them. "Bones, I know you've never done this before, but neither have I. As much as I wish I did, I don't have the answer for you. You just have to trust that you will find the right words." Booth pulled his head back, keeping one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and using the other hand to tip her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Remember what I told you before – put your brain in neutral and your heart in overdrive."

Bones' only audible response was a snort of disbelief, even though she knew Booth was right. She had faith in him; he had never steered her wrong before. Actually, he went out of his way to steer her down safer paths, anything he could do to help her avoid pain. Just that thought brought a half smile to her lips.

"You're right, Booth. But I suspect I need to come up with something more socially acceptable than the only planned introduction I've got so far. I'm sure it's not appropriate to show up on their doorstep and say 'hello, I'm your dead sister's daughter', though I don't suppose anybody has ever done a study directly related to that particular subject to provide any credible scientific evidence….." Booth could tell she was drifting down the road of anthropological and scientific nonsense that would do absolutely no good in this instance and cut her off.

"Bones, you're a best-selling author, I'm sure you can and will come up with something more, what did you call it, 'socially acceptable' before the time comes. And if not, it will no doubt get your point across, but you should be prepared for follow-up questions if you go with that one." Booth threw her the patented Booth charm smile, hoping to make light of the situation and snap the dour mood hanging in his partner's eyes like a cloud.

"I suppose you are right…" Bones' words drifted off and Booth could tell her brain had switched into overdrive. He noticed her eyes had locked on the file he had placed on the roof of the car above the open drivers' door. When Bones had begun considering whether or not she wanted to contact her aunts, she had asked for his help locating and researching them, and he had gladly helped.

In the file was all the information he could find on her aunts, Sarah and Elizabeth, including their current addresses and driving directions. Thankfully, the file was slim, unlike those of Ruth and Max. Booth wasn't sure, but he had the feeling that it had been the deciding factor for whether or not Bones decided to contact them at all. And after having born witness to all of the family drama surrounding Bones since that fateful day seeing Ruth's face on the Angelator, Booth was glad that there may be some good to come out of it.

"Bones…hey, Bones, you with me?"

When Bones snapped out of her state of serious mental consideration, she seemed surprised to see Booth's face mere inches away from her, with his hand waving in between their faces.

"Booth, what are you doing? Of course, I am standing here with you. Are you unable to see me?" She half laughed as she backed up a half a step.

"Yeah, you just seemed to space out a little there."

"I don't know what that means, Booth, but I _was_ thinking of something." She paused, as if she was unsure as to what she was about to say. "Booth, would you do me a favor?"

"Anything, Bones. You know that"

"Will you go with me? And drive?" Bones stood in front of him biting her lip. It was something he wasn't entirely used to from her, and it certainly wasn't like her to _ask_ him to drive. Yes, indeed, she was flustered by this whole situation.

In the time it took those thoughts to run through Booth's head, Brennan interpreted his, albeit brief, silence as turning her request down.

"Never mind, it was silly. This is something I just need to do on my own, I suppose." The words sped out of her mouth at lightening speed, and practically before Booth could move, Bones had dived past him and was in the process of getting into the drivers' seat. Booth caught her arm just before she was seated and spun her around to face him.

Holding her by the shoulders and looking her in the eyes, all he could do was whisper "It would be my pleasure" as the tears welled up in both their eyes. Booth watched the relief wash over her face as he guided her to the passenger side of his SUV and closed the door after she got in. After closing up Brennan's car and grabbing the file off the top, Booth returned to the car and navigated them out into traffic, headed south to North Carolina.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

A few hours later, Booth and Bones sat in the SUV, both staring at a street full of similar looking houses. The trip had been pretty quiet. Bones spent most of the time staring out the window, lost in thought—primarily about what she was going to say to these women she had never met before and she hazarded a guess never knew she existed. She also spent intermittent periods of thought pondering what she had done to deserve her partner—that kind man sitting next to her, being her rock once again. She knew he was doing this for her, not as a 'partner thing' but as a 'friend thing,' and she had no idea how to repay him for his kindness, for his friendship. He was like no other friend she had ever had, and she was certain she was going to need him today. As confident and headstrong as she could be, she was completely panicked about this, and was, possibly for the first time ever, glad that she had an alpha male with her, looking out for her, to protect her.

Booth had also been lost in thought for much of the trip, and when he wasn't, he was sneaking glances across at his partner, trying to gauge what she was thinking of and trying to determine how this was all going to turn out. He had no doubt that Temperance could come up with some sort of eloquent thing to say, but he also knew how fragile she was when it came to issues of the heart and the unknown and how quick she was to build up walls that made it nearly impossible for her to relate to others without turning to anthropological mumbo-jumbo. He just wanted this to go as well as it could for her. He didn't want her to be disappointed or heart broken. As much as he knew she couldn't handle rejection in this, he was equally as sure he would have problems handling it as well. He'd become invested in her life. Even though she didn't realize it, anything that upset her, upset him as well. It amazed him that he had withstood torture at the hands of captors during his days as a Ranger, but when her tears started falling, he was broken.

Now they faced the decision of whose house to try first – Sarah or Elizabeth. They lived on the same street, just a few houses separating them. Brennan had briefly entertained the what-ifs that came to mind when she found that out. What if her parents hadn't been criminals? What if they hadn't gone on the run? Would her parents be living on this street in the suburbs of Raleigh? What about her and Russ? Would they be living here as well?

Bones sighed loudly and turned to Booth. "So, what do you think? Who's first?"

"I don't suppose it matters. You could go with oldest first?"

"Sarah it is, then."

Booth slid the car into drive, coasting down the street in front of them. He slipped it into park on the street halfway between the two sisters' houses.

"I can wait on you here, if you'd like," Booth said as he fidgeted with his tie, suddenly wondering what her intentions had been for his place in this trip. Was he a chauffeur or something more?

"No, Booth. I need you there beside me. You've been with me on this crazy journey for years, and that's not going to change now. That is, if you want to go with me?"

Booth slid the keys out of the ignition and squeezed her hand with a smile across the console and reached for his door handle. He rounded the front of the car, meeting Bones on the sidewalk, and they began the slow walk three houses over.

"So, did you decide what you're going to say?"

"Umm…well, I think I have a good idea, but I'm not sure that it's entirely appropriate. You know sometimes I'm no good with words Booth. I mean, I just want them to like me. What if I come off cold?"

"Whoa, Bones, stop right there," Booth said as he stopped her on the sidewalk in front of Sarah's house. "Don't doubt yourself. In the time I have known you; I have seen you grow into one of the most caring people I know. You can do this. Just be yourself…with your heart in overdrive."

The pair turned toward the house and started up the walk. About half way up, Booth and Brennan noticed two women sitting on the front porch wrapped up in conversation. As they ascended the stairs to the porch, the women turned at the sound of the approaching footsteps.

"Hello, can we help you?" said the woman on the swing hanging at the far end of the porch. She appeared to be about 60, wearing Capri pants and a blouse, sipping tea with her legs curled up under her on the swing with a book next to her. Brennan's eyes glanced to the other woman sitting in a large wicker chair and estimated she was approximately 50 years old, dressed much like the lady on the swing, also with a book resting in her lap.

Booth had made the same age estimates as Brennan and was making an intuitive leap that they had lucked out and would only have to make one set of introductions today. These two ladies must be Sarah and Elizabeth. He also noticed that Brennan appeared frozen where she was, unable to speak.

He cleared his throat, glancing at his partner and began. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth. Are you Sarah Johnson and Elizabeth Evans?"

Both women glanced at each other, looks of concern at this handsome man's introduction as a Special Agent.

"Yes, we are. I'm Elizabeth, and this is my sister Sarah." The woman on the chair said as she got up and scooted onto the swing next to her sister. "What's this all about?"

Brennan looked at Booth with just a trace of fear in her blue eyes. All Booth could do was give her a nod of encouragement. He knew this was something she needed to do. He was just here for support.

At seeing his nod, Brennan turned to the women and opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she took a few steps forward so that she was just over an arm's length away from the two women, and stuck out her hand, palm down. Sarah and Elizabeth glanced at each other; slightly confused, but turned back to look at this beautiful woman and her extended hand closer.

They saw it at the same time, both jumping out of the swing and practically tackling Brennan in a tight embrace with tears streaming down their faces. Booth just had to stand back, slightly perplexed as to what was going on.

At that moment, Sarah and Elizabeth grabbed her hand, rubbing their fingers over the ring as they went back to hugging her. Max had been right. They had seen her mother's ring and welcomed her into the family.

Booth smiled as he realized that his brilliant partner who was sometimes quite verbose had come up with the perfect way to introduce herself, without a single word.


	2. Love

**Love**

"DADDY!!!!!!" Parker screeched as he ran out the door toward his father, breaking the tranquil silence of the neighborhood.

"Parker! Hey, buddy!" Booth caught Parker's speeding body in one arm, swinging him around in a circle before putting him back down on the driveway. "You ready for Mass?"

"Yep, I just have to go get my coat. Can we go to the diner after Mass for ice cream?"

"Maybe, if you're good. Now, go grab your coat. We don't want to be late, do we?"

"No, but God would understand I had to get my coat!" Parker scurried back toward the house where Drew and Rebecca stood in the door holding out Parker's coat for him.

"Bye, mom, see you later! Bye, Drew."

Seeley watched as Parker ran back out to the car, struggling to get his coat on without having to stop his running. He waved at Rebecca and Drew, a silent acknowledgement that he'd have Parker back later that night. They smiled and waved, turning back into the house while Parker got settled into the back seat of the car.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

During Mass, Booth would glance over at Parker to make sure he was behaving himself. He smiled as he considered the thought that his son was far better behaved in church than he had ever been at his age. Booth wasn't really sure that he was paying attention to what was being said, but he was being quiet and respectful, which may be the most he should expect of a seven year old boy.

Booth turned his attention back to the service, just as the priest began to read the scripture and homily. The Booth boys settled back in their pews as the priest began to read:

"_There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love." 1 John 4:18_

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

"Ok, Daddy, can we pleeeaaasse go to the diner? I was good! I didn't say anything the whole time!" Parker bounced around his father as they walked to the car, trying to make up for lost time burning up his excess energy. Booth noticed, and knew that the last thing Parker needed was sugar, but Booth always struggled to say no to the thought of pie.

"Sure, bub, let's go."

Booth was surprised when Parker stuck his hand in his pocket and grabbed his cell phone as he was helping Parker into the back seat.

"Let's call Dr. Bones! I'll bet she wants ice cream too!"

"Well, bub, she's probably bus-" Before Booth could even get the words out, his son had hit the speed dial and was waiting on Dr. Bones to answer. All Booth could do was shake his head and climb up into the drivers' seat.

"No, Dr. Bones, it's me, Parker. Little Booth! Daddy and I are going to the diner to get pie and ice cream! Come with us!"

"Parker, say 'please,' don't be rude," Seeley reminded his son as he pulled out of the parking space. He glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed Parker had a confused look on his face. *Oh, this can't be good* But the look was short-lived and Parker resumed his fast paced jabbering into the phone.

"But Dr. Bones, apples are still apples when they're warm…they're just warm and yummy. And just because we're having pie and ice cream doesn't mean you can't have something else! Pie is the bestest, but if you want fries or a milkshake, you could have those instead. Pleeeease!" Parker paused, obviously listening to Brennan's reply.

"Yay!! We can pick you up! I'll tell my Daddy. See you soon Dr. Bones!!" With that, Parker closed the phone and turned his head up to look at his father.

"We need to pick Dr. Bones up, she's going to eat fries while we have pie! She's looking at some old bones, we need to go to the Jeff—jeffer..nonan?" Booth had to smile as Parker stumbled over the last word.

"Well, then, to the Jeffersonian!"

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

A half hour later, the trio was settled at their usual table at the diner, waiting on pie, ice cream, and fries.

"So, where have you guys been? You look awfully dressed up for a Saturday night?" Brennan inquired, noting that it probably was unusual for Parker to be dressed up like this no matter what day it was.

"We went to Mass tonight. Daddy says it's important for me to learn about God, and I believe him." Parker stated, as if it were a simple fact, and turned his attention to the pie and ice cream the waitress had set down in front of him.

"Well, what did you learn about God tonight?"

Booth couldn't tell if it was Brennan's natural curiosity that had made her ask her son that or if she was just trying to keep Parker engaged in conversation. Either way, he was certain Brennan wasn't going to say anything inflammatory on the subject while his son was with them. And honestly, Booth was curious as to Parker's response. It could be the answer as to whether or not Parker was listening during Mass or just being well behaved.

Parker paused and looked at his father sheepishly before answering, "I didn't learn anything about God tonight." Brennan looked as though she didn't know what to say. It certainly wasn't the answer she had expected. Booth opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Parker continued.

"But I learned something about my Daddy tonight." Parker took a bite of pie.

Both adults were intrigued by Parker's answer and sat looking at him in silence for a minute. Brennan looked to Booth, as if asking permission to ask Parker what he had meant. Booth gave a small nod as he turned to his coffee cup.

"Parker, what did you learn about your dad tonight?"

Parker's answer came quick and clear, but his head stayed down, focused on his pie.

"He's not perfect."

Booth's head turned to his son, trying to read him, to understand what he meant. After all, he wasn't perfect and he knew it. He just wasn't sure how his son had learned that, of all things, during the evening's church service. Booth was quickly replaying everything he had done or said since picking his son up that evening, trying to figure out if he had slipped and said or done something.

Brennan noticed that Booth was lost in thought and continued her conversation with Parker. "How did you determine that, Parker?"

Booth tuned back in to the conversation, thankful that Brennan had not tried to explain to his son that perfection is an impossibility in her usual squintiness.

"Well, the priest said that someone who fears is not perfect."

"I don't understand, Parker. I don't think Bo—your dad is afraid of anything." Brennan glanced at Booth, sharing a look they both knew meant they were thinking of that day outside the diner when Booth opened fire on a clown, but neither willing to bring that up to Parker.

"But he is. He is afraid of love." Parker looked at his dad for the first time since the conversation started. "Dad, the priest said the one who fears is not perfect. You're afraid of you love, so you're not perfect."

Brennan sat back and watched as Booth absorbed the squint-like logic Parker had just presented him with. It really was quite humorous, but she wanted to know what Booth had to say to that revelation, so she tried to hide the smile from her face.

"Bub, I think that you misunderstood. For what the priest said to apply to me, I would have to have found the perfect woman to love." Booth had to stop short of saying he hadn't found her. He couldn't lie to his son but he also couldn't afford to have that conversation because his son was right. He _was_ afraid. He could only hope that his son's insightfulness was limited, or that he would be satisfied with his answer and stop talking about it in front of Bones.

"But Dad, you _have_! I _know_ it! You're in love with Dr. Bones! You look at her like grandpa looks at grandma and Drew looks at mommy, but you never tell Dr. Bones you love her or kiss her or hug her or anything. I think it must be because you're afraid. The priest said fear has to do with punishment, but there is no punishment for being in love, Dad. Dr. Bones won't send you to time out if you love her." Parker turned to Brennan and continued, "Will you, Dr. Bones?"

Booth looked up from the spot on the table he had been staring at since Parker started his speech to look at Brennan with tears in his eyes, afraid of the look he would see on her face. It even crossed his mind that she might not be there at all.

When his eyes met hers, he saw the last thing he expected: tears in her eyes and a smile growing on her face.

"No, Parker, I certainly wouldn't."


	3. Light

**Light**

Booth stood back, surveying the scene in front of him as he pulled on his bulletproof vest and checked his gun. Swarms of other agents milled around, making similar preparations. They all knew how serious the situation was. Booth and Bones had been after this serial killer for months. They had tracked him to a cabin in the mountains of Virginia and were moving in to apprehend him.

"Booth, I'm coming, too!"

"Bones, NO! Do we have to have this argument every time?!? You are not going. It is not safe!"

Several agents turned, anticipating another patented Brennan/Booth argument. But they were quickly disappointed.

"I AM going with you, Booth. I will stay in the car, but I am going with you. I'm your partner, and you can't argue me out of this."

As Booth opened his mouth to argue, he realized what she had said. *Did she really just offer to stay in the car? I suppose I should take what I can get and let this go. It's almost time to leave.*

"Fine, but you're still wearing a vest – _inside_ the car until I tell you it is safe to come out. I'm not kidding, Temperance."

That was it. _Temperance_. He only said that when he meant business or they were talking about something highly personal. While catching a serial killer was personal to them, Brennan was willing to take it as he meant business. Her only response was to grab a vest from the back and crawl up into her seat.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

The team assembled quietly in a stand of trees approximately 100 yards away from the targeted cabin. After Booth had parked in the back of the pack of cars and double checked to make sure Bones was still in the car as promised, he and the group moved in. They had made it no more than 25 yards when there was a large explosion. The brilliant flash of light seemed to hang in the midnight sky.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

That bright light. It feels like it's burning. Even though my eyes are closed tightly, all I see is a bright light, searing my brain, bringing all the pain of my life to the surface.

It reminds me of that time in the hills of Kosovo. The first light I remember haunting me.

Being a good sniper was partly being a good shot, but an even bigger part being patient. And I am nothing, if not a patient man. Tucked in the underbrush on the side of a hill, I had the perfect vantage point to watch my next mark through night vision goggles. Three days I had laid there. Three days that man had dodged the last day of his life. I just needed one good shot, and I was willing to wait for it. But that shot was never to come.

That third night, a burst of light changed my life. I had just been watching for him to come out for his evening cigarette. After three days, he had become predictable. I had decided that cigarette would be his last. It provided the best angle and least chance that others would be injured.

As he opened the door, I shifted my rifle into position and took aim, just as I noticed something small and hard fall at the man's feet. The grenade went off, killing the man, and blinding me through the night vision goggles before I realized what was going on. The pain was intense. I was trained to stay still and not give up my position in the most difficult of circumstances, but it was more than I could handle.

I yanked off the goggles, holding my hands to my eyes, praying for the pain to end. That was all it took to get myself captured, behind enemy lines.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

The light only came on in my dank holding cell when they were about to drag me out. It was always the same. The light would cast out the darkness, stunning me for a moment as the door flew open and they drug me out by my arms. They beat me mercilessly, with anything they had. Their hands, their guns, pieces of wood and hoses and pipes. All caused me pain. These men were no strangers to getting information by whatever means necessary. I believed they could have used a feather to inflict torturous amounts of pain if they had so desired.

After days, I was barely able to hold my head up, completely unable to stand on my own two feet. I lost track of the days, began to lose my mind. The only coherent thought I had was that the light was bad and would one day kill me.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

Fluorescent lights. Bright and unforgiving. Even though my head felt cloudy, those lights made everything sharp and painfully clear. I don't know how I got there, but the bright fluorescent lights of the VA hospital reminded me constantly of why I was there. No matter how hard I tried to block out the memory of my captors' light, I couldn't. The lights above my head never shut off.

Over time, I grew a deep and intense hatred of the lights at the hospital. They began not to remind me of the time that had brought me here, but to the pain I felt while I was in the hospital. Healing, while good for the body in the end, was harrowing on my soul. It hurt on every level—spiritually, mentally, and physically. Every day, I felt as though those lights were mocking me; reminding me of just how mortal I was.

Those lights shone on me, highlighting all my weaknesses, all my injuries, and, on some level, my helplessness. There were days I was sure of nothing other than my ardent belief that I never wanted to wake up again. To be rid of those lights forever.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

The bright lights of the Vegas strip haunt me. They sparkle and dance in front of my eyes, taunting me. Others see those lights and see the idea of fun and riches, good times spent enjoying themselves. My relationship with those lights was tormented, at best. My gambling addiction had little to do with fun and good times, and everything to do with self destruction and depression.

The lights reflection sparkled in my eyes, promising an escape from a life I had recently become unsure I wanted. A life in which there were no certainties other than physically aching pains and a mentally debilitating weight of guilt. Under those bright, multi-colored lights, I was someone else—someone I could look at in the mirror.

But slowly, those lights that helped me escape my life, guilt, and pain began casting shadows on the cavernous holes in my life. My gambling had been the tipping point in so many relationships. I had no true friends – I had pushed them all away. And I couldn't look my parents in the eye. It hurt too much to see the disappointment they reflected back on me. I had no purpose and no motivation.

Every time I close my eyes and see those lights in my head, I still feel the same hollow emptiness that enveloped me so many years ago.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

This is a different light. Small and moving. There is something oddly comforting about it. As I pry my eyes open and blink away the fuzziness. There she is, small flashlight in hand, examining my face.

"Booth! Oh thank God! I thought I'd lost you. You're going to be ok…"

Then Temperance smiled down on me in that dark patch of forest with a thousand watt smile that could light the heavens.

Yes, that's the light I want to see for the rest of my life.


	4. Dark

**Dark**

"This is ridiculous. It's dark in here. Let's just turn on the light."

"What?! No! And keep it down, why don't ya?"

"Why not? There is no logical reason for us to be in here, unable to see, when there is a perfectly operational light switch less than one foot away. And why should I be quiet?"

"Logical?!? You want to bring up logic when the only reason we are in here is because you decided that this was the year to 'participate in an anthropologically significant ritual'? I've heard it all now."

"Well, it seems—"

"—Whoa, stop right there."

"But I'm not going anywhere"

"Stop!! AAHHHH! It is NOT an anthropologically significant ritual; it is April Fools' Day. Now, can you explain to me why you hijacked me on my way into the lab? And more importantly, why are we in the storage closet? I can't wait to see how you logic this all out to sound like the actions of a sane person."

"It's really quite simple, Booth. Traditionally in our culture, on the first day of the month of April, individuals and/or groups endeavor to participate in deception of others, generally with a humorous intent."

"Storage closet, Bones, storage closet!! What does that have to do with us in a storage closet?!?!"

"I would like to endeavor to deceive Angela today, and I am enlisting your help. I assumed that as my partner and friend, you would be willing to participate, but if you're not, then I will need to devise another plan."

"You still haven't told me what THIS plan is!?"

"Angela always assumes that you and I are engaged in a sexua—"

"Ok, understood, we really don't have to talk about that right now. Or ever, actually."

"Actually, it is the basis for my humorous plan today. I think that we should lead her to believe that we are—"

"Stop," Booth said, cutting Brennan off.

"…then she will make a big deal about it, but we will tell her tomorrow that we really aren't. It will be quite funny and maybe she will refrain from making assumptions about our relationship in the future."

"That's not funny, that's just mean. She would be ecstatic today, and crushed tomorrow. Besides, we couldn't make her believe it anyway. She's got that power, you know. I think she's borderline psychic. She just…knows things."

"I'm a very good actress. I believe we could portray ourselves in a sufficient manner to achieve my desired outcome. I don't understand why it is so important to her anyway. We're just partners. I don't see why she doesn't understand that."

"Do you have a specific plan? Knowing you, you've probably got a script typed up down to the minute for the rest of the day. I don't memorize lines, Bones, I'm more of a spontaneous kind of guy. Moreover, I don't think this is a good idea. I'm not sure I want any part in this."

"Actually, Booth, I was kind of hoping you would help come up with a plan. I know that I tend to be blunt about some things, but I think for this to work a certain degree of subtlety will be necessary. After all, we want Angela to believe we are…OW! What was that for?"

"I told you we don't need to talk about that. Ever. And I can't see you, it's dark in here. I didn't mean to hit your arm hard, just trying to stop you from, you know, bringing it up again."

"I wanted to turn on the light. You're the one who wouldn't let me. Why was that? Anyway, I was just saying that we would like to make Angela believe…_that_…not everyone else in the Jeffersonian."

"I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that someone was in the storage closet, that's why we can't turn on the light. I see what you're saying about everyone else in the Jeffersonian, we wouldn't want that. Still, I beg the question. WHY are we in the storage closet right now?"

"Booth, it's physically impossible to see the words I am saying. Sound waves cannot be seen—"

"Stop with the science lesson! Seriously. I'm about to walk out of here…well, as soon as I can find the door knob, if you don't tell me, right now, why we are in here."

"Because I needed to talk to you in private about my plan. You know Angela always comes in my office to talk to me in the mornings. She always interrupts our coffee time."

"We could have closed the door."

"She would have seen you through the window, and known something was up. We very rarely close the door and whenever we do, she interrogates me for an hour afterward to find out what we were discussing. I believed it to be a much better option to have this discussion in the storage closet where there are no windows and no one would see us."

"So this wasn't part of your plan for Angela?"

"No, why do you ask that? I don't understand."

"Well, Bones, wouldn't Ange and Hodgins use the storage closet for…you know…"

"No…I don't know…??"

"AHHH, Bones!!! They'd come in here in the middle of the day to…make out…or….whatever!"

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.' So, if somebody were to need printer ink this morning…and found us in here…"

"OOOHHHH!!! Well, that would only work for the plan if Angela were the one that found us. We should get out of here before somebody else finds us."

"My thoughts exactly. Besides, I don't think I'd want to help you out with this. Angela is your best friend, and this is just mean. How about I help you rig something in her office this afternoon or something? You know, just a little something, kind of funny, that can be cleaned up quick and won't ruin your friendship."

"I suppose that would be acceptable, though I still contend that my plan would have been humorous."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm here to stop you. We'll just get you started in this 'anthropologically significant ritual' nice and slow. You can work your way up to some grand plan in maybe…five or ten years."

With that, Booth's hand found the door knob. He twisted it, and pushed. The door didn't budge. He tried again, throwing his shoulder against the door. Nothing.

"Booth, can't you get the door open? Here, let me try."

"Bones, I can get the door. I'm an FBI agent, for God's sake!"

"That has absolutely no correlation with your abilities, or lack thereof, to open the door! Here, let's just turn on the light, so we can see what's going on."

Brennan's hand flipped the switch. Nothing.

"Bones, it's still dark in here. Can't you turn on a light switch?"

"I am perfectly capable of turning on the light. I have three doctorates. Statistically speaking, I far exceed the minimum necessary capa—"

"Jeez! Stop! I was just picking on you."

Booth reached his hand out, groping to find the light switch. Finding it, he flipped it up and down several times, but nothing happened. He tried the door once again. The door remained closed.

Brennan moved up behind Booth. He could feel her hot breath against his ear.

"I thought you said you could open the door?"

That was it. Booth had had enough. He whirled around, to turn his back against the door to face Bones and snap off an angry retort in her direction. But with his movement, she stumbled, and landed against him, chest to chest, their faces dangerously close to one another. With the light off, neither could see each other, but both gazed in the direction they knew the other's face to be.

Neither could say who moved first—when their lips met, they came together tentatively, with a soft caress, and it grew into a deep passionate dance of tongues and lips.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

Angela stood, leaned up against the railing that outlined the platform. But she had her back to the platform, staring at the storage closet door, which was less than ten feet away from her.

Hodgins walked up next to Ange, handing her a cup of tea and propping himself up against the rail.

"So, how's it going?"

"Oh, it's gone perfectly. I really thought I was going to have to finagle something to get them both into the storage closet, but as luck would have it, Bren drug him in there as soon as he walked in the door this morning."

"So you think they were taking matters into their own hands?" Hodgins grinned at the thought that Ange's plan may have not been necessary at all, that they had a realization regarding their relationship already.

"Oh, no, she had some plan to make me think they were together for April Fools and wanted to talk to him about it."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, the storage closet isn't sound proof, Hodgie."

"Oh, then I guess it's a good thing you locked the storage closet door. I wonder why they haven't turned the lights on?" The crack of open area between the door and floor was still dark.

"Oh, I took the bulb out this morning when I was rigging the door to lock. They're trapped. Together. In the dark storage closet." Ange grinned wickedly. This truly was the best April Fools Day she had ever had.

"Well, they're going to start banging on the door and someone is going to let them out soon enough."

"I don't think so. They quit talking about ten minutes ago. It's been mostly quiet ever since."

"What do you mean, "mostly quiet"?

Just then, there was a noise from the closet.

"Was that a knock on the door?"

"Well, if you ask me, that was the sound of some body backing up into the door. After all, it's hard to see where you're going in the dark!"

"So, when do we let them out."

"When we were together in the storage closet, how long did you want to stay in there?"

"All day."

"Ok, I'll let them out when we leave this evening."

"Ange, it's only 9 a.m."

"I know, now maybe she'll think better of trying to plot against me…and more importantly cut the phrase "just partners" from her vocabulary. I'm going to do some work in my office, care to join me? The storage closet _is_ right behind your station, after all."

Hodgins' eyes grew large. He took one last glance at the door and his station, noting their proximity and ran off to catch up with Angela.


	5. Seeking Solace

**Seeking Solace**

"Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there  
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.  
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.  
'Come in,' she said,  
'I'll give you shelter from the storm.'"

~Bob Dylan, "Shelter from the Storm"

Four children had been murdered. Their bodies were found placed on a jungle gym at a local park. Everybody on the team was dealing with the stress in their own way. We couldn't put our finger on it, but there was something about this particular case that affected everybody more than usual—even more than other cases involving children.

My normally stoic exterior had cracked during the three week investigation. I had found myself crying in Limbo one evening of the second week. The evidence was drying up, the few leads we had were not panning out, and I was frustrated. I could never adapt to feeling helpless. Every time I walked by those small bones laying on the platform, knowing there may be nothing I could do to bring them justice, a small piece of me crumbled.

Booth knew how this case had affected me. He knew where I was going that night when I fled the platform, and waited to find me, allowing me the time I needed. Limbo was the one place I would retreat to—the one place that I could just…be. The silence of that place and what it represented never failed to see me through the bad times. As illogical as it was, I could feel it embrace me as I wandered down the aisles of bins.

The only other thing that came close to relieving my pain, to bring me comfort, was actually a person—Booth. He always knows what to say or do—like waiting a half hour before rousting me from the examination table in Limbo. Or the guy hug he gave me before dragging me out of the lab to Wong Foo's. Somehow his simple actions had come to mean so much to me. Four years ago, being drug from my lab was quite annoying. Perhaps this was part of the evolution Booth and I discuss so much.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

It's thinking back to times like that—the times when Booth was there to prop me up, make me smile, relieve the hurting—that strengthens my resolve to find some way to do the same for him now. Ever since the case was solved, he's been different.

I've seen some of this from him before, but never to this degree. He's walked around with a look of sadness melting his eyes with slumped shoulders before. I can't blame him for that. The cases we work on are a showcase of the worst of humanity. It eats at us both. But now, there's not only sadness in his eyes. There's also some sort of a hauntingly hollow, tormented cloud behind it, and I don't know where it came from or how to fix it.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

Three days ago, Hodgins found particulates that cracked the case and led Booth and I to the door of Ralph Morris. Ralph was a real 'piece of work,' as Booth would say. From the best we could tell, he was an alcoholic and had lost numerous jobs because of it. Also, there were a number of domestic disturbance calls related to his residence, but no charges had ever been filed. It appeared that his wife, Sharon, was still with him.

On the way to Morris' residence, Booth had been relatively quiet, but one look at him showed his frustration with the case, and with the idea of this man who was so much less than a man by Booth's definition. His knuckles were white with rage, and his jaw was clenched hard as I read aloud through what we knew about Morris.

I reached across the console, allowing my hand to rest on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze, trying to get his attention. After he gave me a short glance, I began gently moving my hand back and forth over his forearm.

"Booth, I know this guy is a horrible person. We just need to go get him and lock him up. He will be done causing others harm."

I continued to rub his arm, until he relaxed his death grip on the steering wheel and I heard him let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Thanks, Bones. You're right. I need to calm down before we get there." He flashed a weak smile at me. It wasn't much, but it was something.

We pulled up at the house a few minutes later. We both got out of the car and moved in front of me as we moved up the walk.

"Booth, I think you should give me a gun."

"Shh—NO."

"But Boo—"

My protest was cut short as a loud crash, followed by a shrill scream, reverberated from inside the house. Booth just reached down and pulled a gun from his ankle and handed it to me without a word.

He banged on the door. "Ralph Morris!! Open the door!! FBI!!"

The only response was more noise from the interior. We could see a little bit through the window; it appeared that Ralph was still knocking Sharon around. With that, Booth busted through the door, I followed close behind. Both of our guns were drawn.

By the time we were inside, Ralph was across the room, backing up toward a door to what appeared to be the kitchen. He held the terrified woman in front of him, as a shield, and held a gun with his other hand. Her face was obviously beaten and bloody. Her left arm fell limply at her side, obviously broken. There was a huge gash in her leg, accompanied by multiple scrapes; it appeared she had been cut by broken glass.

A quick survey of the room told a story that matched that of Sharon's injuries. The couch was flipped on its back; cushions from the chairs were strewn across the room. The glass curio cabinet in the corner was shattered and the broken glass was scattered across the floor from one side of the room to the other.

"Ralph, let her go. It's all over." Ralph was continually alternating where he aimed his gun between Booth and I and Sharon.

"That's what you think! You're not going to get me to surrender." Ralph wrenched Sharon's right arm behind her. I knew that if he twisted much further, it would be broken as well. Booth also noticed the painful look on Sharon's face, and we could both tell she was trying not to cry out.

Booth continued trying to talk Ralph into calmly surrendering, but it was quickly evident that he was only becoming more agitated. Booth and I glanced at each other for a split second. With that look, we both knew that there was no choice. If we didn't take Ralph down, he was going to shoot somebody.

At that moment, I saw the look in Booth's eyes shift. It was a look I imagined him showing in his days as a sniper. Cold. Detached. Almost as if willing himself to leave his body to perform this deed I knew he hated so much. Preparing to die, himself, just a little bit.

After one last warning, I watched as Booth lined up his sights and pulled the trigger. Ralph dropped to the ground, with a single gunshot to the head. His gun clattered across the floor to my feet, and he dragged Sharon down on top of him.

I rushed to her, helping her up. I turned, expecting Booth to be by my side. He stood glued to the spot where he had fired the shot, with a dazed look on his face. It only lasted a second, and then he snapped out of it, moving into action.

The rest of the evening, we worked the crime scene just like we did any other. We wrapped up paperwork in my office late into the night. As we were about to leave, I expected Booth to drive me home, like he always did when it was this late. It seemed the later it was, the more adamant he was that he escort me home to make sure I got there safely. But he just walked me to my car in the parking garage and watched me pull off into the night. He told me he was tired and going home to crawl in the bed and pass out.

In the two days since then, and nothing has been right with him. We've gotten no new cases. This is the first time he came by, to pick up some paperwork. But he barely spoke. It was as if he was a shell of his usual self.

I sat at my desk, staring at Booth as he wandered out of the Jeffersonian. His usual swagger was gone. The view of Booth's back disappeared as Angela appeared in my door.

"Sweetie, what is wrong with Booth? It's been two days, and I'm certain I've never seen him like this for this long."

"I know, Ange. I just….don't know what to do. I don't know what's wrong. He hasn't talked to me."

"So, sweetie, it's time to make him talk. Just be there for him. He'll talk to you."

I spent the rest of my day in Limbo, spending more time thinking about how to get through to Booth than I did documenting findings on Jane Doe 27405.

As I walked out of the Jeffersonian at 5, I headed straight to the Hoover Building. As I got off the elevator, I received a few glances from the agents milling around in the bullpen. I headed straight for Booth's office, only to find it empty. I stood just inside the doorway, trying to decide where to look next, when my thoughts were interrupted.

"He left at four. I thought he was with you."

I turned to see Cullen in the doorway, with a concerned look on his face. I had seen that look from him before—when he was in the hospital with his daughter, Amy.

"N-No, he came by this morning for paperwork and left. I haven't seen or heard from him since then. He's not been acting like himself since the Morris case. I came to drag him out of here to see if I could help." I subconsciously began to fidget under Cullen's close scrutiny. After all these years, I am still not sure that Cullen likes me or not.

"Good. I don't know what's going on, but I'm worried about him as well. I've never seen him take a case so hard. He's not been like this since he first joined the Bureau, just after his Army days." Cullen's face softened before he continued. "I've tried to talk to him, but…I can tell…he needs _you_. I'm glad you're looking for him."

"Booth would do the same for me. Well, actually, he has done the same for me. I just hope I can find him, and do half as much good for him as he does for me." My voice was shaking. I'm certain Cullen heard my nervousness coming through.

He smiled, "I'm sure you wi—"

"I've got to go. I think I know where he is. Thanks." With that, I was out the door, leaving behind Cullen with a confused look on his face and a herd of agents glancing between Cullen and me, running toward the elevator.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

I don't know what made me think of this place. Maybe it was Cullen's mentioning of Booth's army days, but something told me he'd be here. I find it highly disconcerting, not having a particular reason for thinking of Arlington National Cemetery, but I'm glad I went with it. This must be what Booth calls a 'gut feeling.'

Booth is sitting on a bench under a tree just off the path about 100 yards in front of me. His tie is loosened and he is crouched over with his elbows resting on his knees as he stares blankly over the sea of white tombstones. I had watched him for a couple of minutes, but he hadn't moved at all.

My mind wandered back to the day Booth and I sat here as he told me about his days as a sniper. That was the first day I can remember reaching out to comfort another human being since my parents left me twenty years ago.

I walked quietly down the path, easing myself onto the bench next to him. I don't even think he blinked. I waited a couple of minutes, waiting on his thoughts to return to the present.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones." He didn't move his head and his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. If I had not been sitting next to him, I'm not certain I would have heard it.

"Booth, you've got to talk to me. This isn't like you. I'm worried." My voice had dropped to a hushed tone, warm with compassion, and slightly trembling with concern. I reached over, and used my knuckle to gently turn his head toward me—a move Booth uses on me when I try to avoid his gaze.

The look in his eyes scared me. It was like a storm swirling in his normally warm chocolate irises. Booth's eyes were always so telling of his mood. We've shared so many gazes over the years, I've learned to see the changes there, but this one, I've never seen.

"You know you'd never let me sit here without talking about what was going on, and I'm not going to allow you to sit in silence either….It's what partners are for, Booth. Whatever this is, you can't keep carrying it around with you. Let me share the load. There's no reason to carry this cross by yourself."

"It's just…you know how I feel about killing someone."

"No, Booth—" Before I could even finish, Booth's head snapped to look at me, hard.

"What I mean, Booth is, yes, I know how you feel about taking someone's life. But that's not what this is about. I know it, and you know it. There's something more. I've never seen you like this. What else is bothering you? You know you can trust me with whatever it is."

Booth shifted to lean back on the bench, and that was when I noticed the fingers of my hand had become intertwined with his. I squeezed Booth's hand in mine and in response, he let out a long sigh.

We sat in silence as the breeze picked up. I could hear splashes of ducks in a pond not too far away from the bench we were sitting on, but for now, we were in our own little world, holding hands. All I could do was be there for him and wait.

We had been there about fifteen or twenty minutes when Booth turned to look me in the eyes. The storm was no longer raging in his eyes like it was before, but there was still some hint of it, along with twinges of questioning and vulnerability.

"Bones, it's been bothering me for a while, but after I had to kill Morris, I really started to think about it. How does this work—when we catch a murderer and I have to kill him? Does that count to both columns of the sheet? How will I ever balance out this way?"


	6. Break Away

**Break Away**

We've got to have this discussion tonight. It can't wait, I realize that now.

"Ruth, are the kids asleep? We need to talk."

She turned to glare at me with her ice blue eyes as she entered the kitchen. She's been giving me the cold shoulder since that bank job three nights ago.

"I know you're mad at me because of what I said the other night. But I've done some thinking." I pause, to make sure I have her attention. Ruth sat down next to me, placing her coffee cup on the table.

"Ruth, you were right. We have got to stop. We have to get away from these guys. I think we should do this last job tomorrow, then disappear." Max looked at his wife, trying to read her reaction. It had been her idea to break away from the group, but at first, I scoffed at the idea. We were making enough money for our family to be secure. Yes, we were breaking into banks, but we weren't hurting anybody, I had made sure of that. Ruth never would have gone along with this in the first place if they were going to hurt people. She had too good a heart.

"Max, we should skip out on the job tomorrow. We don't need it. We should just leave. We need to protect Joy and Kyle."

She had that look on her face—the one only a mother can have when talking about her children.

"Honey, we've been in on the planning for this one. If we disappear before then, they will come after us harder and swifter than if we had been there and disappeared before the planning of the next one. If we disappear before the job, they will think we've gone to the cops." I stared into her eyes, silently pleading with her to understand his point of view. "You know what Vince did to the last one to try that. Even though Jake was supposedly being protected by the authorities, he still ended up with a bolt stunner to the head."

Ruth shuddered at the thought. We had all seen what had happened. They made sure of that, to warn against further treachery.

"I'm not saying that we'd be safe if we do this job before we disappear. In fact, I can guarantee that we will still face danger. But Ruth, we're the smart and careful ones. We can protect our children and ourselves. I just wasn't thinking when I argued about you over this the other day. You're right. Our children are the most important things in our life."

Ruth is tearing up now, leaned against the kitchen sink, looking around at the life we had made for ourselves, as if she was saying goodbye to the life we had.

"We'll have to leave everything and everyone behind. Where will go, Max?"

"I've got everything lined up for new identities. Matthew and Christine Brennan. Kyle and Joy will be Russ and Temperance. We'll just need to pack a few things and leave as soon as the job is done. We can't take much, but as long as I have you and the kids, that's all we'll ever need." I talked as I crossed the kitchen floor and wrapped my arms around her, drawing her into a tight embrace.

We spent a couple of hours deciding what we would take with us and packing up while the kids were asleep. There was no need to worry Kyle in the middle of the night and Joy was just a baby. We decided it would be better to just pack them in the car and explain later.

That night, we settled in to bed, knowing our lives were about to change the next day. Little did we know how much change the next 24 hours would bring our lives.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

The next night, we entered the Ohio Savings and Loan in Dayton, Ohio, not knowing that just a few days earlier FBI Agent Augustus Harper had purchased a safety deposit box and loaded it with evidence of a conspiracy that would prevent us from making a clean break from our criminal way of life and endanger our son and daughter's lives some twenty years later.


	7. Heaven

A/N: Ugh. I don't know how I feel about this one...kind of...just....Ugh. Click review and let me know what you think since I'm so...Ugh.

**Heaven**

I've 'bickered' with Booth plenty of times about religion. It's almost always got something to do with a case—and, quite frankly, I am normally the one that starts it, as I did this time. But I've never felt so hurt and completely confused afterward. I know that's not what he set out to do.

"But, Bones, what if it _is_ real? What if your mom is in heaven looking down on you? Is this life you're living really what you want her to see?"

I didn't know what to say to that. I was stunned. How dare he question my life and the way I lived it? I couldn't even yell at him. My brain was still reeling. We sat in silence the rest of the trip back to the Jeffersonian. I had fled the SUV before it even came to a complete stop, running through the torrents of rain that had begun pouring from the sky during our trip. I never looked back.

I just wanted to hide. I didn't want to see Angela. She would know something was wrong and would want to talk about it. But it's hard to talk about something when you don't understand it. I just needed to be alone. Perhaps I could place these feelings in a box and be done with them. These feelings. I didn't even know what I was feeling. After all, that was Booth's department, not mine.

I slipped down the back stairs to Limbo, not even going by my office when I returned. I dropped my handbag and soaking wet coat in the corner and slipped into a spare lab coat and set about laying bones on the exam table.

After I placed not only the ribs in the wrong order, but also the vertebrae, I realized I wasn't going to be able escape this. All I could do as I stood and stared at the remains before me, was run those words over and over in my mind.

_What if it is real?_

Booth knows I don't believe in some celestial home of angels…or spirits…whatever you want to call them. There is no scientific evidence. It's part of that Christ-myth we discuss all the time. When we die, we are still here, as bones. How does he expect me, a woman of science, to believe in this? I still don't know how he believes it. After all, with everything we see in our jobs, how could he?

Perhaps that answers the question. I suppose I could see how the horror and depravity of mankind would make you want to have something good to believe in. It could be all very depressing. Glancing around modular storage, I began to understand how the idea of it all could be appealing. But nonetheless, there is no proof.

_What if your mom is in heaven looking down on you?_

Max had once said something to me about mom's presence watching over us. Of course, I scoffed at the idea. I never explained that it wasn't that I couldn't romanticize the idea and want to believe it, or even that I didn't believe in heaven, though I don't. But at the time, I had asked myself whether or not she would have even gotten into heaven if there was one. I had bit my cheek (was that how the phrase went?) and not said that out loud to Max.

_Is this really what you want her to see?_

What did he mean by 'this'? What about my life was so horrible that I should be ashamed? Did he mean my work? My friends, my family? Albeit a different family, but still, my family? I'm just not sure what he meant, and that is may be what agitates me the most.

After glancing at the clock, I decided that I wasn't going to get any more work done in the emotional state that I was in, and for possibly the first time ever, I packed up the bones and left work early.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

I wasn't sure how long I'd been here. Normally I only come here with Booth. I'm not very good at this and quite frankly, being here by myself has made me acutely aware of that fact. I had even tried talking to her when I first got here but, as usual, it felt ridiculous. All I have been able to do since then is stare at the carvings on the granite tombstone, lost in my thoughts.

"Baby, are you ok?"

I jumped at the sound of Max's voice next to me. I was so lost in thoughts about my argument with Booth I hadn't even noticed him approach.

"What's wrong? You seem pretty upset. It's Booth, isn't it? What don't you agree on now?" Max looked at me tenderly, probably not sure if I would open up or not. Ever since he started working at the Jeffersonian, I got the feeling that he was never completely sure where he stood with me, and with good reason. I had overreacted when he was hired, though I never admitted that out loud.

"How did you know? Did he say something to you?"

"No, baby. But you seem pretty upset. And you never come here without Booth."

"How did you—" I looked at my father and sighed as I realized he knew me very well. "We had an argument and he…said some things, and I just don't know what to think."

"You want to talk about it?"

I hesitated, but quickly realized that he was my best option. Clearly I had not made any progress thinking about this on my own, and normally I would talk to Booth, but he was not an option.

I looked at Max's face and I was twelve years old again, just wanting my father to help solve my problems. "If you don't mind…" I trailed off as he led me to a bench nearby.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, my dad obviously giving me time, just like Booth does.

"We argued and he said some things…"

"What did he say that has you all turned around?"

"He…he asked me...he said 'What if it _is_ real? What if your mom is in heaven looking down on you? Is this life you're living really what you want her to see?' And I…I…"

"And you don't believe in Heaven, and if there was one…was your mother the kind of person that would get to go there? But, more importantly, you don't know what he thinks you shouldn't want her to see. Am I right?"

How does he do that? I can only sit there slack-jawed. "I…I…how did you..?"

"Listen, baby, I'm your father and I know you. And even though I've been gone a while, deep down, you're still the same person. And I know that no matter what I tell you, you're going to have to mull it over and process it in that genius brain of yours, so all I can do is tell you what I think and you can make up your own mind. Ok?"

The kindness and warmth in his eyes at that moment made me forget that he could ever have been a killer. I nodded wordlessly.

"You may not remember this, but we went to church when you were a little girl. Oh, you loved it. So much faith. Your mom was always amazed. That innocence of a child made it stronger. There was no question in your mind then as to whether or not Heaven existed. It was just a given. I had hoped all those years when your mom and I were on the run that you had held on to your faith and that it would help you through the tough times."

Max paused, looking at his hands, a tear rolled silently down his cheek. Short flashes of a church entered my mind. Images I didn't recall, but it felt as though I'd been there. Was he right? Was this true? I couldn't think of a reason he'd have to lie to me about this.

"But I was wrong. We brought too many tests, too much pain for your faith to survive. For that, I'll always be sorry. And as for your mother…sweetie, she was a good person. I know we did bad things, but she never hurt anyone, other than you and Russ, and I take the blame for that, but we honestly thought we were doing what was best for you and Russ to keep you safe. She struggled with that every day."

Max turned to look at me for the first time since he started talking. "She had faith—God, heaven, the whole she-bang. She prayed for you every day, right up until the day she died. Honey, she made her peace with God, prayed for forgiveness, had more faith than anyone I've ever known and tried to share that with me, you, and Russ. And because of that, I have faith that she _is_ in heaven, despite all the things you are concerned about."

Max must have sensed that I was going to need time to process all he had said…or maybe he needed a few minutes after all that outpouring of emotions. Either way, he waited a few minutes before continuing. We sat there for several minutes, caressed by the breeze that had picked up as he talked about my mother.

After a while, he started again. "What do _you_ think Booth was talking about when he asked if you wanted your mother to see this life you're living?"

"That's just it. I don't know. I'm good at my job, I bring closure and justice to those who wouldn't otherwise get that. And I thought Booth thought the same. Dad, I thought he was proud of me. I'm so confused…" My words trailed off as my thoughts returned to think about my life.

"Can I tell you what I think he means, without you getting upset with me?" Max said, with no small amount of trepidation in his voice. I knew he thought I wasn't going to like whatever it was he had to say.

"You sound like Booth." I couldn't help myself, a half smile graced my face as I rolled my eyes and thought about the numerous times Booth had tried to get me to agree to not be angry with him.

Max chuckled. "Well, you can't blame us for trying. Honey, I know you pretty well, and I like to think I know Booth as well. You're right; I don't think he's talking about your job. Tempe, he's so very proud of you and all that you do in the pursuit of truth and justice. You know as well as I do that's one of the things he admires most about you."

"But then, what…??"

"Now, just remember, I'm just hypothesizing here."

"Just tell me! I don't like being confused and I hate being at odds with Booth."

"Sweetie, you've come a long way since you met Booth. You've always cared about people, but you've really worked on showing it and being more open since you met him. But there's one thing I think you still hold yourself back from."

Max looked at me to see if he had my attention, seeing that I was focused solely on him, anxiously awaiting the answers he could give me.

"Love, honey. You still have your walls up to the possibility of love, even though it looks you in the face every day. I think Booth was talking about that. He questions if you want your mother to see that you hold yourself back from true happiness and sharing your life with someone who loves you with all their heart and loving them back."

"But dad, why would Booth care about that? He's my partner…"

"Honey, you just don't get it…Booth—he's in love with you. Crazy in love…waiting for you to realize it. And no, I don't think he started whatever argument you had to cause you pain or for you to come to this revelation, I'm certain that he would never tell you that on his own. That man, he'd never do anything to purposefully hurt you, but you're very stubborn…maybe your stubbornness finally beat his patience. I'm also certain that he's somewhere, blaming himself and beating himself up for causing you pain."

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. As I closed my mouth, I looked at Max. He was watching every move I made, closely examining my expression, no doubt afraid he had further upset me with his words. The longer I was quiet, the more concerned his expression became.

I couldn't help it; I needed time to process what he had said—to examine the evidence. The longer I thought about it, the more I realized…Max was right.

"Dad—thank you…for everything." I scrambled up off the bench, grabbing my keys. I took a few steps away and quickly turned back, throwing myself into a tight hug with my father.

"Where are you going?"

I grinned as I looked back. "I have to find Booth—we have a little talk about heaven we need to finish!"


	8. Innocence

**Innocence**

Over the weekend, Booth had taken Parker on a drive to look at Christmas lights around the city. It was one of their favorite Christmas activities every year.

They stumbled across a large neighborhood where practically every house was decorated. They enjoyed street after street of unadulterated Christmas spirit.

Parker loved the brightly colored lights and Christmas decorations. Booth loved the way Parker's face lit up with delight—his childish innocence glowing almost as bright as the displays they were looking at.

He had begun thinking about his son and the way he looked at the world. It amazed Booth that he himself had ever looked at the world like that—he'd seen too much, become too jaded.

All he could focus on was protecting his son, insulating him from the cold harsh realities of life for as long as possible.

That night, after he tucked Parker in, Booth lay in his bed, the twinkling lights playing in his mind. And then he thought of it: Bones. He loved it when she rediscovered something with that innocence that mimicked that of her son this evening.

For all the bad this world had dealt her, he was amazed every time he saw that look on her face. It didn't happen often, but he cherished the opportunity to see her so open and free.

That's when he decided to take Bones out for her own special Christmas adventure.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

"Bones, what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Working on some cases from Limbo and maybe working on the outline for my next book." Brennan paused, looking up at Booth warily. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I wanted to know what I would be tearing you away from."

"No, Booth!! I am staying in the lab and doing work. There's nothing you can do about it." Brennan glanced up at Booth who was leaned over her desk, propped up on his hands with a huge smile on his face.

"Aww, come on, Bones. I want to take you somewhere. I just _know_ you're going to _love_ it." The smile never wavered on his face.

"Where?"

"I'm not telling you. It's a surprise."

"No, Booth. I need to get these things done." Bren's voice began to waver and betray the fact that she was considering giving in and agreeing. She cast another glance across the desk at Booth who greeted her gaze with a pouty look, complete with wide open sad chocolatey eyes.

"Please, Bones…don't you trust me? I know you. You'll have a good time. Besides it's almost Christmas—you could use a little break. You know—a treat for being good all year."

Brennan couldn't help but wonder when she was going to learn to not look at his eyes because they get her to agree every time.

"Mmmm" Brennan glanced around the relatively small piles of paperwork on her desk, not finding anything so urgent she could say no for a legitimate reason. "Ok, I'll go."

"Great!! I'll pick you up at 7!" Booth strolled out with a giant grin stretched across his face.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

7 o'clock rolled around and Booth knocked giddily at Brennan's door. Booth was practically bounding up and down, but stilled as he caught a glimpse of Brennan as she opened the door. She stood there in bare feet, wide-eyed with no make up on. She was obviously still in the process of getting ready, but Booth was floored. He couldn't move or tear his eyes away.

She was beautiful. Booth was almost certain he had never seen her look so beautiful. She looked so young and pure. And she was completely oblivious. Booth imagined that she had had that same look wide-eyed innocent look before her parents left her so long ago.

Brennan had opened the door with a smile, which only faded a little as she tried to get Booth's attention.

"S-S-Sorry, Bones…it's just…you're beautiful." The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

"Well, I'm not ready, so, if you don't mind coming in, I'll make it quick. I just have to put on make up and shoes." Brennan turned back toward her bathroom.

"Bones, you don't have to put on makeup."

"Yes, Booth, I do. I'm not going out with others like this."

"Bones, it's just going to be us. There won't be anybody else around. But even if there were, you don't need that stuff."

Bren shot him an exasperated look, rolling her eyes at him.

"I mean it, Bones, I already said it tonight, but I'll say it again-you're beautiful," Booth said as he eased closer to her, gently brushing his knuckle across her forearm. "Just get some shoes, and we'll be good to go."

Bren glanced back at him, as if questioning him. But she emerged from her room after a minute with a pair of shoes on her feet and her coat in her hands.

Booth flashed her a smile that twinkled in his eyes as he helped her with her coat.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

They chatted amicably as they settled into the car and pulled out into traffic.

"So, Booth, where are we going that you're so excited about and nobody is going to see me? You're not kidnapping me, are you?" she said as she shot Booth a curious grin across the cab of the SUV.

"We're just going for a drive, Bones."

"What do you mean, 'going for a drive'? Why are you so excited about that? We drive around in the car all day together."

"Yeah, but that's driving during the day—this is at night. It's dark--"

Brennan cut him off. "Oh, so you don't want to see me? Is that why you said I didn't have to put on makeup? I still don't understand why this is so exciting for you."

"Bones, if you hadn't cut me off, I could have told you the rest. We're going to drive around and look at Christmas lights. You know, happy holidays—ho, ho, ho."

Bren was quiet for a moment as Booth cast a furtive glance at his partner, trying to discern her reaction to his plans for the night. She was staring out the window, her forehead wrinkled as she was lost in thought.

After a moment, she relaxed and looked at Booth. It appeared her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"It sounds great, Booth." Her voice was laced with melancholy.

Booth wasn't sure he entirely believed her words, there was something else going on, but she seemed to be at least open to the idea, so he continued.

"Well, you can't look at lights without some hot chocolate," Booth said as he reached around behind his seat and produced a thermos and two disposable coffee cups at a stoplight. At that, he saw a glimmer of that childlike wonder he had seen in Parker.

Brennan poured two cups from the thermos and clasped hers close to her face with both hands, breathing in the chocolatey aromas and took a sip.

"Mmmm" Brennan sighed.

"Good?"

"It's good, but marshmallows would be necessary to make it excellent." Brennan smiled, obviously pleased with the opportunity to bicker, even if it was about puffs of sugar-filled snacks.

"Aww, Bones, you underestimate me."

Booth reached back again and produced a bag of small marshmallows just as they reached the neighborhood he had found the other night with Parker.

As Brennan turned back to the front and caught sight of the holiday spectacle before her, her face lit up like a firecracker. Her air of melancholy was completely forgotten as a look of excited wonder crept across her face.

They drove down street after street, admiring the thousands of twinkling lights. Booth watched Bren's childlike innocent reactions as she practically bounced around the cab pointing out houses whose decorations particularly caught her eye.

After a couple of hours, Bren seemed to have tired somewhat, but was still enjoying herself as they headed back to her apartment. She had been quiet for a few minutes when she turned to look at Booth.

"Thanks, Booth. I had a good time tonight."

"I'm glad, Bones…are you sure everything's ok? You seemed to be thinking awfully hard before."

Brennan breathed heavily. "It's just…Russ and I used to do this with mom and dad. All the way down the hot chocolate. I really did have a great time. I felt like I was 12 years old again—like nothing in the world was wrong or would ever be wrong. Must be that innocence that Parker has you're always talking about."

"Yeah, Bones, sounds like it. I'm glad you could feel that again."

"Me too, Booth. Me too." Their gaze locked across the cab for a moment at the stoplight.

A horn honked behind them, breaking the spell.

As they made their way back to Bren's apartment, Booth looked over and noticed Bren's head was propped up against the window…sleeping in the exact same position as Parker had just two nights ago.


	9. Drive

**Drive**

Last Monday, Dr. Sweets asked me about regrets I had in my life. He told me to make a list of all the regrets I had for our next session.

I could have done it for him right then. I had only one: succumbing to faulty logic and betraying my friends in the process.

I told him, but he wouldn't listen to me. I understand fully why Dr. Brennan hates psychology. Dr. Sweets was insistent that I think about it for a week and we would discuss it the next Monday at our next session.

Having read every journal article and reference book of any interest from the institution's library weeks ago, I decided I would do as Dr. Sweets asked and think about it for the week.

I set about this task the only way I knew how – methodically.

Logically, the best time frame to start was at the beginning and work my way through my childhood to present day.

By Friday, I had worked my way through my entire life and not found another single thing that I regretted.

I spent Saturday with a fictional publication entitled "War and Peace" in my lap. I had exhausted the scholarly publications and had selected this book because of its length. I was still certain I would finish it over the weekend.

After nearly a chapter, I found myself distracted and staring out the window watching automobiles travel at high velocities along the highway near my looney bin kingdom.

I couldn't help but feel like I had failed in my assignment from Dr. Sweets. I had never received a failing grade on an assignment before, much less failed to complete the assignment at all.

It seemed to be such a simple task—nothing particularly challenging about it on the surface, but it was proving to be a seemingly insurmountable roadblock for me.

Sunday, I returned back to the same chair with the same book determined to make some headway in the reading and put the nonsense of regrets out of my mind. After all, having regrets was illogical. There was nothing to be done to correct or otherwise eliminate the act which had caused them in the first place.

By mid afternoon, the sun had shifted such that it was reflecting off the cars that passed outside and was flashing in my eyes.

That's when it hit me.

I have only one regret other than falling for that line of crap - drivel - blarney - nonsense - balderdash - twaddle - bull – bunkum – hooey.

I never learned how to drive.

While I believe psychology to be a soft science with little to no empirical value, as I stare out at the passing traffic, I can't help but wonder what Dr. Sweets is going to say about this on Monday.


	10. SixtySeven Percent

**Sixty-Seven Percent**

"Bones! Chop chop!!" Booth's yell echoed across lab.

Brennan did not verbally respond, nor did she look up from the remains she was examining. Booth swiped his card and his heavy footfalls could be heard bounding up the platform stairs.

Booth waited until she finished her examination of the femur in her hands and replaced it on the examination table, knowing that interrupting her before then would be pointless.

"Ok, Bones. Let's go." Booth placed his hands on both of her shoulders as he gently, but firmly, guided her to the stairs.

"Do we have a new case?"

"Case? What? No --" Before Booth could continue, Brennan wrenched herself from his grasp and slipped past him, toward the remains that lay on the table.

"I have work to do, Booth!"

"Skeletor can wait, Bones. He's been dead for, what…1700 years?"

Brennan's head whipped up from her clipboard to look at Booth.

"How did you know that?"

At first, Booth wanted to laugh, but her face was a look of genuine curiosity. He'd hate to tell her that he was just smarting off.

"I don't know, Bones. Must've just been a lucky guess. So, come on. Let's go. Time for lunch."

"Your 'lucky guesses' have become quite precise, Booth."

"What can I say? Special Agent Booth – _Special_. Even I can see this one is less…._crusty_ than that 2000 year old Russian guy from last week and more….._dusty_ than the 1500 year old Venezuelan whatever-he-was the week before that. Who cares? It was just a guess. Let's go, Bones. It's meatloaf day at the diner. I'll get extra fries for you to steal."

"Who cares?! I have a significant interest. And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you to make me eat."

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

_Thirty Minutes Later…_

"Traffic is horrible, Booth. I could have gotten so much work done in the lab instead of sitting in traffic."

"Well, Bones, if we had left when I got there instead of bickering about how I estimated the age of those old bones, which by the way was totally a guess, we'd be eating right now."

"Booth, your method—it's just not logi-" Booth cut her off with a sharp look. "How was I supposed to know that traffic would be this bad? And I still contend that I was not going to lunch and you could have left by yourself significantly earlier than we did."

"It's ok, Bones. I should have known. Statistically speaking, there's a high likelihood that my attempt would result in your protests." Booth flashed a quick grin across the console at his partner as he waited to pull out into traffic.

"Statistically speaking? Do you realize the academic expectancies that phrase implies? You really shouldn't be using that phrase. In our line of work, we rely on citing factual statistics during evaluation of evidence and during trials. It would behoove you to not become lax in your use of terminology. Your frequent use of hyperbole and sarcasm could easily cause you significant issues if used inappropriately." Brennan rattled off admonishingly.

"What has gotten you all worked up? Just some friendly conversation on the way to lunch, and you get all testy." Booth could only glance across at her, his jaw dropped at Brennan's scolding.

"I was merely pointing out that inferring the likelihood of me going to lunch with you with or without protest on any given day is based on statistics is fallacious. There has been no testing, no collection of data, no form of proper review and analysis to arrive at your conclusions—"

Brennan stopped talking as she noticed Booth with a large smile on his face, digging around in the back pocket of the passenger seat, trying to keep his eyes on the road. After he narrowly missed a car passing them in the other lane, Brennan decided it was time to step in.

"Booth, what are you doing?! Keep your eyes on the road. Or let me drive. I'm an excellent driver. I _pay attention_ to the road and traffic around me." Brennan's attempts at grabbing his arm from behind her seat and forcing it to return to 2 o'clock on the steering wheel were to no avail.

"Stop, Bones. I've almost got it…..yep. There it is!" Booth exclaimed triumphantly as he produced a presentation folder and handed it across the console to Brennan as he turned back to face the windshield fully.

"Booth, what….is….this?"

"67% of the time when I come to pick you up for lunch, you argue with me that you don't need to go or you physically avoid me in an attempt to protest going. You're not the only one that can do an experiment. I knew I would have to provide evidence to support my argument one day, so here it is. Go ahead. Check it out. I'm sure it's not up to your doctoral candidates' standards and I know it's not really "_statistical_," but I think I did a pretty good job, you know, for just being a standard non-genius cop."

The smile could practically be heard in Booth's voice.

Brennan began to flip through the folder where Booth had outlined his hypothesis, how he planned to test it, and what would constitute "arguing" or "resisting" on Brennan's—no, the "test subject's" part. Then she flipped to the section labeled "data" which she quickly found was the largest section. Pages and pages of dates with other information and notes.

"_Evaded physical contact leading her off the platform by circling the exam table five times." _

"_Insisted she was capable of taking care of herself because she was a grown woman."_

"_Poked me in the chest with a probe she was about to use on a set of remains. Then slugged me in the arm."_

Brennan couldn't help but smile. She remembered that day. He had whined about her injuring his "gun arm" for the next two days.

"How long have you been doing this, Booth? There have to be….at least a couple hundred entries here."

"Over 750, actually. I lost count around 700; and that's not including the most recent data. I got better later on – there are more per page as time progressed in the experiment."

"You can't be serious? What do you mean "the most recent data"?"

"Yes, I am serious. I couldn't risk you complaining about it not being a statistically significant sample. I've been working on this for a while. I'd update the report on weekends I had Parker, after he went to sleep and I had nothing else to do. The most recent data's probably all fallen out in the pocket of your seat. Should be 9 note cards there, and, of course, I've not filled out today's yet—it's definitely going to be a first.—'_argued with me for a half hour because I guessed the age of remains to distract me from taking her to lunch_.'"

"This is crazy, Booth. What could you have possibly been hoping to accomplish when you first started this?"

For the first time in this discussion, Booth began to look a little embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand as he felt his cheeks flush. He hadn't really thought that through – the explaining how he came to amass a stalker-like level of information regarding her lunchtime interaction habits.

"Well, it's silly, really. I'm sure you don't want to hear about it." Booth looked out the front window, willing the diner to come into sight so he could park and hop out of the car. *This has got to be the longest drive to the diner ever.*

"I can assure you that I do."

They drove two more blocks before Booth realized there was no easy way to talk himself out of telling her. But she loved the truth. *You can't go wrong with her as long as you tell the truth. You just have to do it.*

"Well, it started a month or so after we became partners. It was such a challenge to get you to go to lunch with me. It seemed like no matter what I did or what I said, I was always banging my head against a wall with you."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means…I felt like I could never get anywhere with you—at least, as far as getting you to really open up to me - going to lunch being just one small step toward that. And honestly, I don't know why it was so important to me at the time. I guess I just wanted to get to know you, get you out of the lab, and get you to take care of yourself. It didn't take me long to figure out you didn't do that enough when you had your head into your work."

Booth sighed as he pulled over in front of the diner and turned off the car.

"So, I asked myself – what would Bones do if she wanted to figure something out? And…I figured you would do a test or an experiment or something. So that's exactly what I did. Granted, I didn't plan on it going on this long. I was just trying to figure out what worked and what didn't work when it came to getting you to eat lunch with me. And somewhere along the way, it helped me know who you are. I mean _really_ know you. And I believe it shows how our relationship has changed over the years."

"I don't know what to say, Booth. Nobody has ever taken the time to know me like you have. Really, I shouldn't be surprised." Brennan was truly touched, and Booth knew it. She had that look on her face, like a lost little girl.

"Well, let's eat, Bones. You can mark up my report with your red pen later!" Booth exclaimed with a grin in an effort to lighten the mood.

"I'm not going to correct your report. I'm interested to see what information you thought would be useful in your analysis section." Brennan hopped out of the SUV onto the sidewalk.

As they walked toward the door of the diner, Booth said, "Oh, there's a lot of information back there. I mean, there's the fact that you have argued with me 67% of the time since I started keeping track. But you wanna know what I find _really _interesting? The first 3 months, you argued with me 95% of the time and only agreed to actually go to lunch 15% of the time. But for the last 3 months, you've argued with me 52% of the time and agreed to actually go to lunch 90% of the time."

"So what does that tell you? I don't see the significance?" Brennan looked at Booth with her brow furrowed as she stopped in the open door he was holding for her.

"You like to argue…..and, more importantly, you like _me_….or at least…having lunch with me." Booth waggled his eyebrows and flashed a charm smile at Brennan as he gently pushed her lower back to guide her through the diner door.

"Well, one thing's for sure. You're anything _but_ a standard non-genius cop…"


	11. Loyalty

**A/N: Thanks to everybody for the reviews, story alerts, and favorites! Such motivation for me! Keep 'em coming!**

**Loyalty**

"_My people were right."_

"_Your people?!"_

"_We're Booth's people."_

From "Fire in the Ice"

It was widely known at the Hoover that Booth and Brennan, along with the rest of the team of squints, had the highest close and conviction rate of anyone in the Bureau. All of the superiors loved Booth. There wasn't even a need for comparison anymore in their eyes. Over a dozen agents failed at what Booth had accomplished: bridging the gap between cop and squint. It was a feat that had catapulted him from being a _great_ special agent to being _THE_ special agent.

Peyton Perotta had learned that the hard way. After transferring to DC, she had shown herself to be, by and large, a fairly solid special agent. She closed most of her cases – not all, but most. She had a couple of commendations in her file – not many, but there were some. She didn't have a lot of reprimands in her file – not many, but they were still there.

She was just…there.

DC certainly wasn't like Chicago, where she'd been the top dog. Everybody looking at her – some because of her investigative skills, the rest simply because she could win them over with a toss of her hair and some slightly lewd talk, like she was one of the guys. That was how everything was supposed to go here, too. She had pictured this move being much different than it actually was. She was supposed to be the agent everyone was fawning over. As it was, she was getting little to no attention, and it was frustrating to say the least.

She'd heard the talk around the Hoover about the famous Booth and Brennan partnership. Quite frankly, she didn't understand it. She'd gotten a degree in forensics, sure, but that was a Bachelors degree, for the sheer purpose of it looking good on her resume and application to the Bureau. It was almost more than she could endure. The people in her classes just weren't normal people. And the ones she later learned continued on to obtain advanced degrees in it were inevitably the ones with the least amount of people skills and general normalcy. How was it that an affable guy, like everyone described Booth as, could get along so well with Dr. Brennan who was apparently the world's squintiest squint?

Moreover, how was Perotta going to beat him? It seemed like no matter what she did, it was always met with nobody being impressed because Booth was so much better, or he'd done it before, or he did it faster, etc.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

One night as she sat at the bar, nursing a beer, she was lost in thoughts about her career and how was she going to rectify the situation and get the attention she deserved when a couple entered the bar, seemingly in an argument. They made their way to the bar, waving at the bartender, never breaking stride in their disagreement. Perotta noticed that the bartender just nodded back and began mixing drinks, seemingly unfazed by the couple arguing their way through the bar.

Perotta had just turned her attention back to her drink when she heard the woman, "Booth! That's not rational…"

Perotta looked back toward the couple, trying to surreptitiously study them. And as the man turned around, Perotta was struck with the realization that he was…well, _hot_. She had never considered what the famous Booth and Brennan looked like.

Perotta decided that if she couldn't beat him, she was going to join him. There was no reason she couldn't become part of the team and get some of the glory for herself. She could even make herself put up with Dr. Brennan to do it, especially when there was the fringe benefit of time with Booth. While she was at it, she should win him over too. A man that good looking, it would be hard for her to resist the temptation to flirt salaciously.

So, Perotta set her plan into motion. She spent the coming weeks working to get herself into position to insert herself into their group and was able to when the opportunity opened up. She smiled and flirted with the new Deputy Director, George Crews, enough to ensure she got assigned to work with Booth's team any time an opportunity arose. She flirted with Booth mercilessly, ignoring all of his brush-offs and simply changing tactics each time. She tried to sway favor with the squints. She tried to antagonize Dr. Brennan when it was possible for her to do so without others noticing that it was an outright attempt to do so. Something was surely going to pay off if she continued to attack on all fronts.

She could grit her teeth and play nice as best she could, but the "Squint Squad," as Booth called them, were driving her crazy. The worst was Dr. Brennan. Not only was she strange and unfriendly, but she also seemed to have this unspoken connection with Booth.

Nobody had said that they were dating, in fact, both denied it vigorously when it came up. Perotta, however, was no fool. There was something between the two of them. But if they weren't admitting it, she wasn't about to let that stand in her way.

That day with Wendell and Hodgins, she thought she would win them over by standing up for them to Ms. Julian. That plan, however, backfired.

"_We're Booth's people."_

Caroline's smirk after that proclamation grated on her internally. What was _with_ these people? Everything was '_Booth this_' and '_Brennan that_.' Perotta found she was pretty aggravated by this point, under her relatively calm and polite exterior.

Weeks went on, and she kept trying, only to be rebuffed. Booth had begun going out of his way to avoid her, the squints refused to give her information that had not been given to Booth or Dr. Brennan first, regardless of whether or not it was Booth's case. Then there was Dr. Brennan. Perotta had briefly considered whether or not she should be afraid of Dr. Brennan physically harming her, but put her concern aside.

This was simply going to take a little more time than she had anticipated.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

After the Booth-Brennan team had first been put together, their operations weren't the smoothest. But with each case that passed, their operation became smoother and more streamlined. By the time Perotta came around, they had been operating as a well-oiled machine for a couple years. Like most things, there were a few squeaks along the way with stresses on the team—like when Zack left, Max's trial, Booth's fake death to name a few.

But now, Perotta's constant presence, her overbearing exchanges in the lab, her jabs at Brennan, and her constant distraction of flirting with Booth had driven the team up the wall. Everybody noticed it. Even Perotta was having trouble lying to herself about the state of affairs.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

When Perotta found herself summoned to the Deputy Director's office, it may have surprised her, but it shouldn't have.

"Agent Perotta, please sit down. We need to have a discussion regarding your work with the team at the Jeffersonian."

It didn't sound like a good discussion, but he was so hard to read sometimes.

"Yes, sir." Perotta concentrated on maintaining a calm exterior as her mind raced thinking as she tried to figure out what this was really about.

"How do you think things are working out?"

"I'd say things are working well, sir." Yes, that was a lie. Perotta knew things were now tenuous at best, but there was no reason to admit that when she wasn't sure what the Deputy Director was going to say.

"Really? Well, then, we really _do_ have something to talk about. Some things have come to my attention…"

"What have they said about me? Whatever they have said, I can assure you, sir—" She was cut off by Crews' sharp words.

"Agent Perotta! Ironically enough, Booth and the team at the Jeffersonian are the _only_ ones who _haven't_ said anything to me about you. Surely because they don't want to cause any trouble for you." Perotta started to reply, a look of confusion on her face, but a stern glare from Crews stopped any words from tumbling out.

"I don't think this is going to work out. I have received complaints or heard comments from everybody from the field techs to Caroline Julian to the waitresses at the diner when I try to grab a decent cup of coffee. I don't have to tell you how clear of a picture they paint. Moreover, I have witnessed enough on my own. Perhaps it was my poor judgment that got us into this mess, but I am the Deputy Director, and I am smart enough to get us out."

"Sir, if I may…I have been trying my hardest, but I can hardly be blamed for not fitting in with them. That whole group is just so…so…" Perotta found herself struggling for a word.

"Loyal, I believe is the word you're looking for. Both to each other and to their joint cause. The methods and tactics you used to try to horn in on their success were never going to be successful."

Noting Perotta's defensive look, he continued, "Don't try to kid me or yourself here. Had I not been foolish to begin with, I would've recognized your efforts for what they really were – an attempt to further yourself through Booth and his team. But what you didn't realize is that they have been through a lot. I wasn't around for a lot of it, but my predecessor filled me in. The kinds of things they've been through, you only get through with people you truly trust. Trust can only be earned and built over time, Agent Perotta. And trust like they have, it breeds a ferocious loyalty. Trying to barge into such a dynamic and expect to be held in such a regard by virtual strangers without attempting to earn it is fatuous, at best."

As he pulled out his desk drawer and shuffled through some papers pulling a folder out, Perotta's mind raced. *_What was going to happen? Was she being fired? How did this all go so wrong? At least he hadn't brought up her hitting on Booth._*

"You're being reassigned to Organized Crime." Perotta couldn't hold back a sigh of relief.

The Deputy Director signed a couple of pages in the folder and handed it to Perotta's waiting hand across the desk.

"Thank you, sir. There won't be any similar problems." Perotta turned to leave, glad she was escaping relatively unscathed. As she reached the door, his voice stopped her.

"Oh, and Agent Perotta? I can't tell you how to live your personal life, but I'm going to offer a word of advice. Stay away from Booth. He is clearly taken, and I can't guarantee that Dr. Brennan won't break your wrist if you choose to continue your shenanigans. I can, however, guarantee that if she does, I won't do a thing about it."

All Perotta could do was stand next to the barely-open door with a slack-jawed stare.

"Dismissed, Agent Perotta."

And as the door closed behind the blonde agent, George leaned back and thought about all the information his predecessor had shared with him about Booth and Brennan, not the least of which was his belief that they were meant to be together. Cullen had asked him that day to look after them behind the scenes, much as he had, and that if they ever did get together, to give them the leeway to be together.

George spared a glance at a picture on the corner of his desk. In it, younger versions of he and Sam Cullen were decked out in Marine dress uniforms, arms thrown across each others' shoulders.

"Semper Fi, Sam."


	12. Silence

**Silence**

"I come to find a refuge in the easy silence that you make for me.

It's ok when there's nothing more to say to me

and the peaceful quiet you create for me

and the way you keep the world at bay for me

The way you keep the world at bay…"

~Dixie Chicks, "Easy Silence"

He makes me feel warm and comforted in the easy silence that envelopes us. Sitting here next to him with no words between us, I can push aside all of my worries and fears. I know that it's irrational, but I feel as though nothing can harm me when we have these moments. He somehow always knows when I just need the peaceful silence, and he gives that to me unquestioningly. So many times I have wanted to ask him about how he knows, but I'm never willing to give up our cocoon of silence, so my curiosity goes pleasantly unsatisfied.

With any other person, they inevitably break the silence; try to push me into talking about my feelings. They always mean well, but Booth always gives me the silence I need when I need it; never pushing until the time is right.

So many times we've sat in silence because I needed it. I'm not sure when I came to rely on it, but lately I have noticed that if something goes wrong, my first reaction is to go to him; to lean on him in the quiet stillness which is only interrupted by the sound of his heard beating in his chest next to my ear. I used to tell him that he shouldn't let me hug him all the time. Now, I don't know what I would do without those wordless hugs.

I've tried to return the favor – to provide comforting silence when he needs it. It took me a little while to figure out that he might also appreciate it, but like me, he appears to need it sometimes. I fear I will never be as good at it as he is. I cannot discern whether or not I have provided him sufficient comfort as he has for me.

I am often unable to discern whether or not it is what he wants. That night of his birthday party, I had to ask if he just needed time or time and space. It was far too important a juncture in our relationship for me to choose incorrectly because of my confusion when reading physical indicators.

All I can do is try to "feel" my way through the silences.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

I know she thinks that I keep quiet for her sake. And that's part of it. But the truth is, I enjoy that time too. It's so rare that she opens herself up to me that way. It happens more often as of late, but still.

In the silence, she allows me to hold her, to wrap my arms around her shoulders, to bury her face in my chest. And when that happens, it just feels so right. The warmth of our two bodies together, as irrational as she would say it is, eases my burdens. I feel like a better man when she is there.

So, you see, it is partially selfishness that allows me to extend the peaceful silent moments between us. It's always a struggle for me to break the silence that envelopes us and allows her to allow me to hold her. It seems like it's a hypnotic spell that we fall under. It allows us to forget who we are and just be.

All I can do is hope the silences continue to be enough.


	13. Deep in Thought

**A/N: I know they would've probably shaved his whole head....so let's just call it artistic license, for the sake of this little story. And thanks for the reviews and messages! You really know how to make a girl's day.**

**Deep in Thought**

After he was discharged from the hospital, I had taken him back to his apartment. On the way in, I grabbed that ridiculous fake rock hide-a-key of his and placed the key on my key ring. I hid the rock under his kitchen sink while I was at it.

When I left to visit the grocery store, fill his prescriptions, and gather some clothes at my apartment, he had been in his bed under strict orders to stay there and rest until I returned. I should have known better than to think he would follow orders. How the man made it in the Army, I will never know.

Upon returning, I had slipped in, only carrying in the items that needed to be refrigerated so I could be quiet in case Booth was asleep. The apartment was quiet. I made quick work of placing the items in the fridge and set off down the hall to check on Booth before returning to the car for my bag and the rest of the groceries.

As I entered his bedroom, it was apparent that he wasn't in his bed. Rather than yelling for him, I continued through his bedroom to the attached bathroom, having not seen him in the remainder of the apartment.

When I turned the corner, I found Booth leaning against his bathroom counter, propped up on both hands. The fresh bandage that had been wound around his head just before we left the hospital was wadded up and tossed in the corner where the counter met the wall.

He was just staring at himself in the mirror; apparently deep in thought as he had not heard my footfalls approach. At the very least, he had not bothered to acknowledge them, or me leaning in his bathroom doorway. There was something about the scene that made me disinclined to interrupt it. I wasn't sure what I was witnessing or what he was thinking about, but I knew enough to leave well enough alone.

I took a few minutes to study him. This was the first time I'd seen him without the dressings on his surgical wound. Each time the nurse had come to change it at the hospital, he'd come up with some inane thing for me to leave the room for. I had gotten the man more pudding in the last week than an elementary school full of children could eat in a month and run to the newsstand for enough sporting magazines and newspapers to keep the major publishing houses in business for the year.

I was surprised to see that they had not shaved his entire head, opting only to shave enough to allow for the necessary surgical incision and had left the rest of his hair untouched. The previously shaved area had begun to grow and there was now a short length of hair barely covering the exposed scalp.

The stitches themselves were barely visible through the new hair, but the angry redness of the surrounding skin stood out, even across the bathroom.

It took me a minute or two to realize what he was probably thinking about. It made sense when I saw an electric hair trimmer that seemed rather old on the counter near his right hand.

It occurred to me that Booth had barely blinked in the long minutes since I had been watching him, and I had no idea how long he had been there since I left. All told, I had only been gone for an hour and a half, but he needed to be resting.

"Booth?"

He turned his head to me slowly, leaving his hands on the counter as I took the few steps across the linoleum to his side.

"What's on your mind? You should get back to bed."

"Just stuff, Bones. Nothing important." With another sidelong glance in the mirror, Booth started to move around me to the door. I caught his arm as his was parallel with me and pulled to turn us face to face. All I could do was look into his eyes, willing him to share with me what was running through his mind. Then, as if of its own volition, I felt my hand reach up and gingerly glance across the longer hair, then the shorter hair around his incision.

"If it's bothering you, it's important to me, Booth. Please let me help you."

With my hand still cupped around his head, he closed his eyes and covered my small, delicate hand with his larger, slightly rougher hand.

"All you've done for the last two weeks is help me, Bones. I don't think I've said 'thank you' enough as it is."

That's when I realized that our "just partners" bit was a total lie. The intimacy of us, standing there in his bathroom, fingers laced together over his head where just two weeks ago the doctors had removed a brain tumor, screamed of our being far beyond partners.

"Booth, _please_, tell me." I hesitated for a brief moment, but continued after taking a deep breath. "I'd say that it would be a 'partner thing,' but if the past two weeks has taught me anything, it's that you're…that….you're much more than a partner to me, Seeley Booth."

His eyes remained closed; the only indicator that he had even heard me was the tightening of his grip on my hand. We remained there, unmoving, just long enough for me to question if I had been wrong in telling him. Then he opened his eyes, and I found myself surprised to see the slight glisten of tears welling up in his eyes, in direct contradiction to the smile that was growing across his face.

He pulled my hand down from his head and brought the back of my hand to his lips and placed a firm kiss there. The feeling of his lips on my hand sent a shiver down my spine.

I felt his arms wrap around me and pull us closer together in a vice grip of an embrace. Then I felt, more than heard, his words. "Bones, you've always been more than a partner to me."

Minutes passed, I am certain. When we finally pulled apart, I asked again, "So, are you going to tell me what was on your mind?"

"Well, it seems pretty silly now, seeing as we just told each other that we're not the platonic partners we've portrayed ourselves to be for the last 4 years."

I suppose that it was the sharp look I shot his way that told him we weren't leaving the bathroom until he told me.

"Ok, ok. I was just…God, this is stupid. I was thinking about how I need to cut my hair."

I think he managed to get that final sentence out in less than half a breath. I could only look at him as I tried to discern what the real thoughts were related to his hair.

"See, I told you it was stupid."

"No, it's not that I think it's stupid. I'm just trying to understand the significance for you. You were thinking about it for quite a long time, Booth. I want to understand, but I don't. I need you to elaborate."

Booth moved back toward the counter, running his hand over the hair trimmer.

"It's just….I can't go around with my hair like this. You can say it's vain of me, but I just can't go around with this look. It only draws attention to the 'poor brain surgery patient.' That's the last thing I want. I just want to get back to life as usual as quickly as possible. I don't want to be the guy that everybody looks at with pity."

"I understand the pity part. But I don't think that's all that is bothering you."

I saw the right side of Booth's mouth quirk up in a grin.

"Since when did you get so good at reading people?"

"Not people, Booth. Just you."

"It's just…well, I haven't used this thing since I got back from the army. I haven't had a buzz cut since then either. I just couldn't do it anymore. Every time I looked in the mirror, it just made me think of my time there. And never the good parts of it; only the bad. I swore I would never cut my hair like that again, Bones. I know it's not rational."

I paused for a moment, taking in his words, trying to find a way to help him through. Then I moved toward him, gently taking the hair trimmer from his hand.

"So, maybe it would help if we gave you some new memories to go with that hair cut?" I smiled at him with an eyebrow raised, hoping he would be game.

He looked me with a questioning look. "What are you thinking, Bones?"

"How about if your new girlfriend cuts your hair this time? Do you think that would help?"

I wasn't prepared for the smile Booth gave me. I'd have to remember that this new type of smile was successful at totally disarming me. It was possibly his most powerful weapon.

"I definitely think that would help, _girlfriend_." He couldn't help but chuckle, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his giddiness.

I went back out to the kitchen and snagged a stool from the bar so he could sit in the bathroom. It had the dual purpose of allowing me to reach and see the top of his head and to allow him to rest. He had been out of bed entirely too long for my liking, but seemed to be holding up fine.

We spent the next half hour in the bathroom; me learning how to use the hair trimmer and circling him trying to cut his hair evenly all around and avoid his stitches and him doing his best to distract me from the task at hand.

When I was done, he inspected it in the mirror and turned to me.

"You did a good job, Bones."

"Thanks. Now go lay down while I sweep up. You've been out of bed entirely too long. The doctor said to rest."

Booth crossed over to where I was trying to pull the broom out of the bathroom closet and grabbed my arms to turn me toward him. I looked at him and was about to repeat my admonishment to go to bed when I felt his lips meet mine, giving me a kiss that was gentle, with the promise of more.

"Hurry up, Bones. I still have a lot of 'thank yous' to say." Booth's husky voice made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. He smiled at me and his eyes twinkled just before he turned and made his way back to the bedroom. It was the quickest I had ever swept a floor.

The next morning, I realized I had never made it back out to bring in the rest of the groceries or my clothes.


	14. Cigar

**Cigar**

I see this guy in here once a month, like clockwork. Always the same. He wanders in on a Friday evening, still in his suit. I've seen the flash of a badge on his belt. I take him for a Fed. Not too many detectives or beat cops frequent my shop. To be honest, not too many Feds do, for that matter--unless they're on up in management. This guy, though…there's no way he's management. He's got that look of someone who's seen too much in his life, but still hits the streets because there's no way he'd enjoy the view from behind a desk any better. I've seen that look before. I came from a family of cops and could probably tell you more about law enforcement-types than an average Joe would ever get from a 20 minute conversation with one.

No, not too many of D.C.'s finest find their way into my shop. I see more business from politicians or, more often, their staffers sent on an errand run. Not too many of them want to get caught by the press coming out of a high end cigar shop. The commotion from one of those anti-tobacco lobby groups can cause would be enough headache to make someone _need_ a cigar to relax with…

Anyway…this guy. Always with the monthly Friday night visit. Always with the same cigar. Not the most expensive thing I've got, but still a decent selection, and probably a little on the extravagant side for what I imagine he makes. Probably explains why it's only once a month. We had worked into this routine over the years. At first, he'd examine the selection to see if there was something else he may try, but then after a few months he gave up the pretense of looking around and a few months after that, I gave up trying to suggest something new.

So we'd come to the easy familiarity of two guys who see each other often and know each other, but don't _really_ know each other. We'd chat briefly about those things guys talk about – the latest hockey game, the weather, how the football teams were looking this year—that type of thing. And then he'd be off with his cigar. And one month would pass and he'd be back and we'd repeat the cycle. I'd gathered through the years that he had a son he didn't get to see much and a partner that drove him nuts and made him crazy for her. (Though, I must admit, I used to think he was switching partners pretty often because there was no way he was talking about the same person, but, as it turns out, I was wrong.)

This month, he didn't come by when he normally did. I noticed immediately, but wrote it off as maybe he'd finally drawn up the courage and was taking that partner of his out on a date. It was Friday night, afterall. All things considered, it was probably more peculiar that he had managed to spend a Friday night every month swinging by my shop by himself than it was that he actually _didn't_ stop by one Friday night.

When I get home and flick on the news, though, I see him there staring back at me. Dead from a gunshot wound to the chest the weekend before. Funeral services to be held next weekend in Arlington. "_Decorated war hero, FBI special agent_……" The TV commentary buzzes in the background as I think of what I knew of this man and think about what his son will do and what of that partner of his? Then I find myself briefly considering going to his funeral. In some ways, I've known him longer than many of my friends, even longer than my wife. But that would be weird. Thoughts flash before my eyes of having to explain how I knew but didn't really know this man to those who really _did_ know him and quickly decide against attending.

And for the next week, I mostly push aside thoughts of this man I barely knew, aside from the daily news report and brief thoughts of him as others bought what I had come to think of as the 'FBI special' cigar he always procured.

On the day of his funeral, I am working on restocking and reorganizing shelves behind the cash register in the evening when I hear the door chime. I nearly drop the box in my hand as HE walks in, grabs his cigar and makes his way toward me. I notice some of his movements are stiff, but overall, he's….well…he's very much alive. I'm sure I have a look of shock on my face as he begins to pull out his wallet but I snap out of it soon enough.

"Don't worry about it. I think you've had a couple hard weeks. It's on the house, man."

He grunts, pulls out some bills, and drops them on the counter despite my protests. "You don't know the half of it." He turns and is nearly to the door when he yells back, "See you next month."

....he seems so sure of himself...I can't help but believe him....


	15. Limbo

**Limbo**

"Uggghhh"

"Shhhh, God, do you have to be so loud?"

"Why does my head feel like there's a boulder on top of it?"

"Arrrgh. I can't open my eyes. Why is the sun s' bright? Thought the curtains were closed…"

"Hodgins, what the hell was in that stuff? I swear I'm never drinking anything but beer with you again….Beer that I open myself."

"Mmmrrrrmm why can Booth make whole sentences?"

"He has an amazingly high tolerance, Ange."

"I still feel like crap if that makes you feel any better."

"Shhh. Really people, stop yelling. You're killing me."

"Actually, Cam, it's rather impossib—" *Thump* A pillow flew across the room and connected squarely with the side of Brennan's head.

"Hey!!"

"Sorry, Bren. I just can't handle listening to your literal ramblings this morning. And I probably just saved you from Cam beating you to death with her high heels."

"She did save you. Now, zip it."

"I'm going to find some aspirin. Just as soon as the room stops spinning."

"Just keep one foot on the ground, Ange. And close your eyes."

"Professional advice, Studly?"

"Just do it."

"Has anyone seen Dr. Sweets?"

"He's probably passed out in a corner somewhere. After last night, I think it'll be a while before he shows his face."

"If he remembers, you mean."

"Either way, Bones. If he remembers, he'll be embarrassed. If he was so drunk he doesn't remember then he'll be nursing a hangover all day."

"Hodgins, we may need to send a search party if he doesn't turn up."

"Can we send a search party for the aspirin?"

"Hmmmph! I'll go get it if you'll calm down." Booth hefted himself up from a pile of pillows in the floor.

"Booth, do you need me to go with you? You might get lost."

"Army Ranger, Bones. Army Ranger. After navigating uncharted mountains in a foreign hostile country, I think Hodgins' house will be a piece of cake."

"Cake? I thought you liked pie? Booth, there are nearly 150 rooms. Over 20 are bathrooms, I'd imagine all with medicine cabinets."

"Are you a Hodgins Manor tour guide? Nevermind. Just…come on, I'm in no condition to be arguing with you."

"Oh, so I should get you drunk when I want to preclude you from participating in an upcoming verbal spat? I shall keep that in mind."

"Bones, shhh. We'll discuss this later. Right now, aspirin for Ange. I think there's a bathroom down this way…." The sound of Booth and Brennan's voices faded as they set off down the hall.

*sigh* "Oh, thank God they're gone. It's too early for B and B bickering."

"Do you guys think they remember last night?"

"Well, they remember Sweets, so, I'd imagine so. They disappeared together before that."

"Before that? I thought it was after…I mean…they were gone a long time, right?"

"Ange, do _you_ remember last night?" Hodgins queried from his resting place on a chaise near the window.

"Enough. I mean, I remember Sweets and the whole Booth and Bren thing. You know, we never found them when we went looking, did we? I guess that covers it. Oh, and I remember watching you mix up some sort of ridiculous concoction that should have killed us all."

"Is that all you remember, Angela?" Cam rolled her head to the side so she could gauge Angela's reaction from her precarious sprawl across the couch on the far wall.

"Yeaaaah. Why? Is there something I missed?" Angela was still attempting to bury her head under a pillow in the corner of the couch to block the sun, so she missed the look Cam and Hodgins briefly shared acknowledging what they both knew more than they were letting on.

"No, Ange. I think that pretty much covers it." Hodgins turned himself to stare at the ceiling while he considered the conversation and everything Angela had no recollection of.

"Covers what?" Sweets stumbled into the room and plopped down in an armchair.

"We were just recapping the evening. Did you have a good time, Sweets?"

"Yeah, it was totally cool. But…um, I have a question."

"Umm. Whose pants do I have on? And where are mine?" Sweets picked at the loose pajama pants he was wearing.

Cam couldn't help but burst into laughter, which proved to be a mistake as her head began pounding. "Owwww. No more laughing. Hurts too much."

"Pants, people?"

"Oh, you stole Booth's pajama pants from his go-bag he brought in from his truck."

Sweets' eyes grew wide as he began to stutter. "B-bb-b-but….why would I do that? Oh, this is so _not_ cool. Where are my pants? I need to change quick!"

"If I remember correctly, you said you needed roomier pants to show us what you could do." Angela carefully rolled over on the couch and gingerly placed her head back on a pillow as she watched the young psychiatrist grow more and more embarrassed in silence.

"Oh, come on Sweets. It was a good show. Not really one I would sign up to see, but…you know, to each their own."

"What did I do? Hodgins?!? Dr. Saroyan?!? Please…." Sweets' screech echoed in the den they occupied.

"Sweets, call me Cam. And seriously, drop your voice before I hurt you."

"Dude, your pants are probably over by the pole."

"Pole?!?!" Sweets' face was turning an alarming shade of red as he willed himself to disappear.

"Oh yeah, kid. It was pretty entertaining." Sweets jumped up at the sound of Booth's voice behind him. Booth's hand lingered, unnoticed, just a little longer and a little lower on Brennan's back than normal as he eventually parted from her to dispense aspirin and bottled water to Angela and Cam.

"Yes, Sweets, I also found it quite fascinating. You are deceptively flexible and have amazing balance for someone of your stature." Brennan curled up on Booth's temporarily abandoned pile of pillows as Sweets' head dipped between his knees with his hands held across the back of his head as if to protect it from falling debris.

As Sweets groaned with embarrassment, Angela finally put him out of his misery.

"Yeah, Sweets, she's right. Who knew you were a limbo champ? Honestly, I hadn't done that since…well….some other time I was obscenely drunk, but still….it was fun. But I think you just secretly wanted to show off. It was all your idea, you know. I don't even want to know where you found a pole to use."

"Ohhhh no. I'm so sorry. I totally don't remember any of that. And Agent Booth, I'm terribly sorry about stealing your pants."

"Well, Sweets, we made a v—" Booth lightly jabbed Brennan's side with his elbow to stop her from giving away the video they made of the young psychiatrist.

"Don't worry about it, Sweets. No harm." Booth said with a half grin that made the psychiatrist somewhat curious as to what he was missing.

After a few minutes of lounging in relative silence, Cam gathered herself together to go home before Michelle returned from a weekend trip with her friends' family. As she gathered her things, she glanced surreptitiously around the room, taking in the sight of her unusual adopted family-- Booth and Brennan lazily staring out the window as they lay next to each other in the floor, Angela and Hodgins staring at anything that would not allow them to look in each others' direction, and Sweets dozing in the arm chair in the corner.

Her drive home was filled with her thoughts about limbo – and one couple who had perhaps finally found their way out of it, one couple still firmly in it, and one young psychiatrist who was the self-proclaimed King of it.


	16. Ceramics

**Ceramics**

I'd _like_ to say I don't know how this on-going project started. But, I do. I can blame it on Sweets…or on her…but really, there's nobody to blame but myself.

I could blame Sweets and his insistence we go to that faux double date with him and that off-kilter fish-loving girlfriend of his to the ceramics studio or for how he knows how I feel about _her_ and how he always pokes and prods around it.

I could blame it on her for sounding so impressed with the horse I'd made that day so long ago, or for how she made me fall in love with her.

But really, it's me to blame for the box full of hand sculpted, kiln fired trinkets collecting dust in the attic crawl space above my closet, protected from prying eyes by the hidden door that she'll never see. They used to be under my bed, until that day she burst into my bathroom and I realized that there was probably no such thing as privacy for those items in my apartment.

It started as a way to keep my mind occupied while she traipsed around DC, or more specifically, her bedroom, with the man of the week. Some loser not worthy enough to be in the same country as her, much less across the table from her or in a bed next to her. If I didn't keep myself busy, I knew I'd end up going crazy or, at a minimum, breaking up her date and making her angry with me. Honestly, sometimes, I was ok with breaking up the date and living with her ire for a few days. She always complained, but if she only knew that I was actually _holding myself back_…well, I don't know that she's appreciate it any more, but it's the truth of the matter.

I had tried a lot of things. I logged more hours at the practice range than the rest of the agents in my department combined some weeks. I ran more miles, spent more time sparring at the gym, and rounded up more impromptu hockey scrimmages than I had probably done in the 5 years before she came into my life combined.

I think I settled on this because I couldn't get the sound of her voice out of my head as she commented on the horse. It seemed, back then, that there weren't a whole lot of things I could do that would make her use that tone of approval and a twinge of admiration. So every time I sat down to make something, I suppose I felt closer to her on those nights when I couldn't physically be close to her.

Everything I chose to make, I chose because I knew it would mean something to her. Not that I ever envisioned actually giving them to her, or anything like that. No, they were simply silent toils with only the satisfactions of a job well done and knowing that she _would_ approve…if she knew.

Each piece took a few tries. I had a LOT of time on my hands, it seems like. The women who owned the studio quit hitting on me after my first few visits. I overheard them talking about how I must have been nursing a broken heart after I had scrapped my third attempt at a dolphin with an emphatic heaving into the trash. If I'm honest with myself, they were right, only I didn't know it at the time. Denial was my middle name. _Is_ my middle name.

Over time, though, I found myself spending a lot less time playing with clay because I was spending a lot more time with Bones. Time with her everywhere…at the Jeffersonian, at the diner, at the Founding Fathers, at her apartment, at my apartment... Most nights sitting on my couch, I didn't even think about the box hiding above my closet full of tailored suits and funky ties.

But some nights, my mind would drift to question what she would say if I gave her that pair of dolphins I made while she dated Sully or the life size femur from the deep-sea-welder-Coldplay fiasco—which is actually a life-size Booth femur, by the way. That's one secret Wendell will never tell if he wants to continue living. And there are plenty others—a pig, a coffee mug, and a smurf among them.

I don't even have to think about what I'd give her first, just as soon as I get with it. Gordon Gordon would phrase that a different way, but we'd still mean the same thing.

There are a dozen ceramic daffodils, each wrapped in bubble wrap, in that box. Those, I made while she was gone to Guatemala.

Even when I was trying to figure out who_ I_ was and what _we_ were, I still knew _her_.

They are, by far, the most difficult thing I've made for her – both from a technical, creative standpoint and from an emotional standpoint.

I'm not sure if the day comes that I am comfortable enough to give those to her if I will also be comfortable enough to tell her about when and why I made them. I don't know if it would affect her as much as it affects me when I think about it. I know how I feel…how I felt during those 6 weeks. Perhaps it would be best to just let them be what they are.

I'm scared of what will happen if I give that fragile bouquet to her. I think I'm more scared of what will happen if I don't.


	17. Bullet

**OK, so this one is a continuation of the last one ("Ceramics")...there will be 1 or 2 more that follow this one...**

**Bullet**

Glancing at the clock, Booth noticed it was only 10 pm. Clearly, the 400 rounds he'd brought with him weren't going to be enough tonight. He turned back to the fresh target at the end of the range and quickly squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, sending a barrage of bullets through the flimsy paper. Once his clip was emptied, he pulled the switch to bring the target back to him as he ejected the empty clip from his gun with his other hand.

He stared at the target before him, appearing to evaluate the shots to anyone who might be observing him. But really, the only other person who would be there to observe him was the range master. Honestly, they both knew that Booth's shots were perfect. There was one tight grouping in the center of the paper outline's chest. The range master had long ago quit paying much attention to Seeley Booth because he knew how ridiculously good Booth was. After Booth had been at the Bureau 3 months, they'd quit keeping track of first place at the range and just knew Booth's name was always going to be at the top and it turned into a competition for second place.

The nighttime range master had also gotten quite used to seeing Booth in the evenings over the years, but that had slacked off quite a bit. But tonight was the fifth night in a row. After checking out the empty boxes strewn across the shooting stall, and clueing into Booth's demeanor, he grabbed a box of 100 rounds and wandered out to the range stalls, plunking the box down in front of the pondering agent.

"Here's some more therapy for ya, Booth."

Booth shot him a glance that was somehow both quizzical and exasperated at the same time.

"What? You're the best shot the Bureau, so it's not practice you're here for. But really, it's none of my business that you've been in here for five nights straight, spraying more bullets than I have budgeted for the next two months." With a raised eyebrow, the range master retreated to the back observation room and the hockey game that was on TV.

Booth sighed and reached for the fresh box, sliding out the Styrofoam tray with rows of shining bullets standing on end. As he reached reverently for the first one, his thoughts drifted to his partner – the reason he was here. She was out _again_ tonight with Hacker.

As Booth smoothly slid bullet after bullet into the clip, he thought about that day in Sweets' office. The kid actually _tells_ them they should go out with other people—practically forbade them from seeing each other outside of work for a week. A week! Booth hadn't not seen Brennan for a week since…since…well, since she went to Guatemala.

He began firing bullets at the target set at the farthest setting as he thought about his week without Bones and how he'd not even listened to Sweets' instructions to go out with someone. Instead, Booth had chosen to spend his time here, in the basement of the Hoover, until the early hours of the morning.

As the bullets flew, so did Booth's thoughts, until he reached the conclusion that if _this_ was the life he would live without Bones, he wanted no part of it. Somehow that infuriatingly logical woman had wormed her way so deeply into his life, he couldn't even remember what he had done with himself outside of work hours before he knew her.

Spend time with Parker. Go out with friends. Go out on dates.

Looking back, none of the women ever held his attention like Bones could. And nobody he'd met since then could either, which was why his inadvertent vow of celibacy continued in the most extreme fashion of not even going out on dates.

Booth wasn't even sure how he could go back now that he knew her—knew how amazing she was. He'd been comparing every woman he'd met to her subconsciously for so long now, he wasn't sure he could ever stop that habit.

He _had_ to see if she would be a part of both his days _and_ nights from now on.

He found the thought both exhilarating and terrifying, knocking off his last three shots, hitting the target's shoulder.

Booth quickly cleaned up the stall, throwing the trash in the garbage can, sliding the one full clip back in his gun before holstering it as he threw up his hand indicating to the range master that he was leaving.

He headed for home, a plan beginning to formulate in his head. He still had two days left on his Sweets-imposed Bones fast. Two days to plan it all out, to make it perfect, because he figured he would only get one shot. And hopefully, two days would not allow him time to talk himself out of it.

His first order of business: dragging down that box from the crawl space and dusting off those clay daffodils.


End file.
